Billy and the Kid
by Lilacs and Monarda
Summary: This story follows the events of Alkatraz with a slight twist. Machiavelli saves Billy. The process of using up his aura deages Machiavelli instead of aging him. kid!fic
1. Chapter 1

AN: The bolded text is a direct quote from "The Enchantress" and thus does not belong to me.

**Machiavelli appeared and dropped to the floor beside the two Americans. Without a word, he pressed his palm to Billy's chest and his dirty-gray aura bloomed over his hand. It dripped onto the open wound like sour milk.**

**"Smells like snake," Billy mumbled, eyes unfocusing as he slumped into unconsciousness.**

**"I like snake," the Italian muttered. Desperately, Machiavelli forced his aura through his hand into Billy's wound.**

As he did, he visibly changed. Already weakened severely from attempting to wake Areop Enap, this new strain of healing Billy was draining him rapidly. But his was a curious transformation which shocked the other immortals in the room.

As he poured his aura into Billy, his features began to reform. The wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out and his grayish white hair was darkening, lengthening. Always close cropped, his hair now took on a wavy curl. His face filled out and his body likewise grew supple. The skin on his hands grew rapidly smoother and then- inexplicably- smaller. The Italian was growing younger by the minute. He was growing smaller, transforming from man to child.

"Enough," Black Hawk finally commanded. He gently pulled Machiavelli away from Billy.

**"Let me give him just a little bit more," he pleaded. "I have a little left. I can give it to him."**

"No!" the answer rang out around the room.

Machiavelli's face was flushed and his body was heaving from the effort. Black Hawk released him and he toddled back to Billy's side. He not so gently smacked Billy on the face and looked up again. "Why isn't he awake?" he questioned sadly. Nobody answered the boy. Curious as this new dillemna was, they were still tasked with waking the Old Spider and with the Karkinos scuttling around outside, they couldn't be distracted. Machiavelli sat by Billy and placed one hand on the sweaty brow of the unconscious immortal.

Billy woke up to a throbbing pain in his stomach. During his years as an outlaw he had been nicked and shot with bullets numerous times, and those had hurt, but never like this. This was comparable with the Lotan stripping his aura from his hand the other day. Machiavelli had said it was foolish, but... Machiavelli! Billy pulled himself into a upright position, ignoring the pain in favor of finding the older immortal. He had only a vague sense of what had happened since he had received his wound but his last memories were of Machiavelli pouring his aura into the wound.

Blearily, he opened his eyes and turned his head. He suffered a body jerking shock to find a little boy next to him, watching him steadily with dark gray eyes.

He got the sense that the boy had been keeping watch over him. When the little boy saw that Billy had woken up his small eyes had brightened considerably and he touched the outlaw's face with both of his small hands. "Billy," the boy enthused. "You're awake." And he threw his arms around the slender frame of the surprised immortal.

'A kid? Here?' Billy thought to himself and closed his eyes briefly. 'When did a kid get here?' He unconsciously wrapped an arm around the boy. Opening his eyes, he guessed, though he had very little experience with children, that this boy was about three or four years old. He had dark eyes and wavy dark brown hair. And he was dressed in an oversized white button down shirt and a black suit jacket. There was something strangely familiar about him, but Billy couldn't put his finger on it. There was something keenly intelligent in the boy's eyes which looked odd on such a young visage.

The boy seemed to sense and understand Billy's confusion. "It's me Billy, it's Mac-Mac- Machi," the boy stumbled over the name. "It's Niccolo. Call me Niccolo." The little boy, no Machiavelli, dropped his arms to his sides, but remained close to Billy.

Billy in turn, blinked in confusion. A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. "Mac?" he said disbelievingly. "But how- why- Mac?" he floundered. "No, you can't possibly be..." But a movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye and moments later Perennelle Flamel knelt in front of the pair.

"Mrs. Flamel?" he said in polite confusion.

"It's him, Billy," she said softly, gently pushing him back down. "We're alright," she continued. "Areop Enap woke up at last, and destroyed the Karkinos." She pointed to the enormous spider skittering away from them towards a few wandering unicorns. Billy followed her line of sight.

"Oh man, that's ugly," Billy gasped.

"Billy," the little boy said sternly and instantly the American immortal's face lit up.

"Mac! It is you!" he squawked with little dignity and pulled the boy into an impromptu, bone breaking hug. Just as impulsively, he kissed Machiavelli on the cheek. Billy felt rather than heard him sigh. He scrutinized Machiavelli. "Oh, you were a cute kid, Mac," he said lovingly.

The Alchemyst joined his wife gingerly on the floor. "He put a lot of his aura in you to save you," the older immortal explained. "Normally, such a huge use of one's aura would age one's body immensely. However, acts of selflessness have an opposite effect." He shrugged. "Or so the Codex says," he concluded.

"We've never actually seen it in practice," his wife added.

"Is it reversible?" Billy wondered out loud.

Both the Flamels shrugged helplessly. The three adults looked down at the little boy nestled in Billy's arms. Somewhere in the middle of them talking, Machiavelli had fallen asleep. His face was turned towards the warmth of Billy's body. A tiny hand had slipped into his mouth. In the quiet brilliance of the early morning, they could hear the soft sounds of his breathing.

"Well," Billy said decisively. "If he does stay like this forever, that's fine. I'll take care of him." A brilliant smile graced his face. "I was just thinking the other day that it would be nice to have someone there to greet you at the end of the day. Maybe this is my chance."

A lull in the conversation eased its way in. Billy laid back, careful not to shift Machiavelli or wake him. Under his arms, he could feel the rise and fall of the little boy's chest. He tried counting the breaths, feeling the intake and outtake, but his mind, sluggish already from the previous pain, exertion, and finally surprise, quickly succumbed to sleep once more.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I'm not opposed to people using this idea to write other kid!Mac fics if they want to. We could use some more stories for this pairing... As per usual, I own nothing but my own ideas. All the characters belong to Michael Scott and history respectively.

As early morning broke over the island, the Flamels had left Billy and Machiavelli alone in the warden's old home to assess the damage done the previous night. The married immortals had waited for the American immortal to wake up before they left, leary that something might have survived through the night. Once they were sure that Billy was awake, Perenelle Flamel had patted him on the shoulder and promised to be back soon.

The sunlight slatted through the windows. Machiavelli slept on, but Billy kept watch. He zoned out as the minutes dragged was a rapping at the door and he started. The American outlaw looked up as the Flamels reentered the building and was surprised to see them smiling at him. "Hey," he said. He licked his lips and grimaced when he tasted blood. "What's up?"

"Ah, we found somebody we thought you'd like to see,"Nicholas said. He motioned to someone outside of the door. "Come on in."

Black Hawk ducked through the door. Billy's face lit up. "Black Hawk!" he shouted. He attempted to pull himself up, but three pairs of hands pushed him back down. Black Hawk squatted by his friend. Billy grabbed his hand briefly and shook it it slightly. "I'm glad you're still alive," he said faintly.

"I told Machiavelli you were too stupid to die," Black Hawk laughed and embraced Billy.

"What about you?" Billy exclaimed. "We thought the Nereids had gotten you for sure."

Black Hawk settled back. "I thought they'd be waiting for me too," he acknowledged. He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "But I guess after Nereus died, they didn't feel like sticking around."

Machiavelli stirred and sat up. He looked up at Black Hawk, rubbed his back. "You're still alive then?"

"As sure as you're still puny."

Billy curled his fingers around Machiavelli's hand. "So what took you so long to get back here?" he questioned the Native American.

Black Hawk grinned and took one of the little boy's hands too. "Hey friend, have you not heard about the currents on this island?" He looked over at Perenelle. "Your friend, the ghost, he helped to guide me. You can get really turned around out there."

Perenelle pushed the hair out of her face. "I think we all owe de Ayala a debt of gratitude."

"So," Billy addressed the room. He cocked his head and gave his most winning smile. "When do we get off the island?"

"Something we'd all like to know," Nicholas muttered at his place by the door.

Black Hawk coughed. "We can go now if you want." Everyone in the room looked up. The other American immortal grinned. "Like I said, it was one hell of a current. Washed up on the shores of San Francisco." He shrugged. "Rented a boat."


	3. Chapter 3

The boat ride back to the mainland passed by fairly uneventfully. Of course, after the night the immortals had suffered through, a bomb could have blown up in the middle of their ship and none of them would have batted an eye. They made an odd group: an elderly couple, a Native American, a young man with a not quite yet closed stomach wound, and a little boy. All of them, except perhaps Black Hawk, splattered with mud, blood, and countless other substances that they didn't care to think about.

By the time they reached the shore, Billy had fallen asleep again and when the got off the boat, the Nicholas and Black Hawk hefted him between them to his convertible, while Perenelle picked up Machiavelli. Entering the city, they sent Black Hawk out to find lodging as he was, surprisingly enough, the most normal looking individual within their group at the time. He set them up in a seedy motel where nobody looked at the odd group twice and headed out to get food and clothing.

In their motel room, Nicholas settled Billy into one of the double beds. Perenelle excused herself to take a shower and Machiavelli climbed onto Billy's bed. Having finished settling Billy in, Nicholas came around the bed to Machiavelli's side. "We're allies now, aren't we Niccolo?" he asked, careful not to wake Billy.

Machiavelli nodded. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," he said.

Nicholas patted his shoulder. "Good," he finally said. They heard the shower turn off. Moments later, Perenelle came out with a motel bathrobe tightly tied around her. "Niccolo," she acknowledged and kissed her husband on his cheek.

"Mrs. Flamel," Machiavelli rejoined politely.

"I think I'm going to lie down now. You should clean up, Nicholas, catch some sleep."

Nicholas and Machiavelli nodded. Nicholas climbed wearily to his feet and headed to the shower. Moments later, they heard the water start. Perenelle Flamel laid down in the other double bed and soon drifted off, but Machiavelli who had slept for most of the morning was wide awake. He scooted backwards on the bed until he was off the blanket. Once the blanket was free and clear, he pulled the blanket down and Billy's shirt up so that he could see Billy's wound.

"Checking out my gorgeous figure, are you?" Billy drawled and Machiavelli jumped guiltily.

"Checking out your figure anyways," he said cheekily back and Billy laughed. Machiavelli pulled the blanket back up. "You're a good man William Bonney. I can't lose you."

"You're a good guy too Niccolo." Billy's eyes were soft and soulful. He smiled, said, "Look." Purplish red smoke spilled out of his fingertips and he pressed them to his wound, sealing it shut. "You know, Mac, when they told me I was going to work with you, I was prepared to dislike you. But you got to me. Now I can't help but love you."

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"I am not wearing that," Machiavelli said flatly. He crossed his chubby arms and frowned up at Billy from where he sat on the bed.

Billy sat beside him. "It's all we have left that fits you. You grew so much this week- I think you might be a whole year bigger." He held up the yellow sweatpants enticingly. "Come on, Mac, you're a very little boy. And little boys look cute no matter what they wear."

"I won't wear it." Machiavelli edged away from the sweatpants as though they were toxic. "I will wear jeans, even t-shirts, but never sweatpants. Especially yellow ones."

The American frowned. "Mac, I hate to tell you this, but one way or another you are going to end up wearing these sweatpants or you can go naked. Now what's it going to be?" Machiavelli tilted his head, thinking about it. "Oh, come on!" Billy said impatiently. The Italian reluctantly took the sweatpants and rolled about on the bed, pulling them on. He had a hard time lifting his body off of the bed and Billy ended up pulling him up for a minute with his hand.

"Please tell me there isn't a sweatshirt to go with this," Machiavelli said, looking very disgruntled in his new sweatpants.

"There is actually, but I won't put you through that," Billy told him. He unrolled one of his t-shirts, revealing a faded Sgt. Pepper design. "It's going to be a little big, but I thought you could wear this." He helped the Italian into the shirt. It ended up falling past the Italian's knees.

"It covers most of the yellow," Machiavelli remarked, cheering up considerably.

Billy scooped him up and set the Italian on his hip. "This was quite the ordeal just to go out to eat." He pushed through the adjoining door and into the Flamels' room where the other immortals were waiting. "We're all ready."

Perenelle eyed Machiavelli's outfit with some visible distaste. "You didn't dress yourself, did you Niccolo?" The Italian vehemently shook his head and the Frenchwoman looked almost accusingly at Billy. "We've got to get him some better clothes."

Billy waved a hand. "I'll bring him out tomorrow." He bounced the Italian up and down and hummed happily. "How about it, partner, you want some new duds?" Machiavelli frowned at Billy's wording, but nodded nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4

Though Machiavelli seemed mostly in possession of his faculties- he had attempted to pincer grip Billy when the American had hit on the motel maid- there were times where his child's body seemed to synchronize with his mind. Billy noticed that while he seemed more like his adult self in the morning, as the day wore on and his body got tired, he seemed more childlike and pliable. There were certain differences that persisted with the younger Machiavelli and the older Machiavelli that Billy had come to know.

For instance, the younger Machiavelli seemed more prone to open displays of emotion than the older version ever had. In fact, Billy suspected that the older Machiavelli took a certain amount of pride in masking his face. Truthfully, they'd only known each other a few days and under the dire circumstances they had been working under, they'd hadn't the time to play twenty questions, but Billy felt like he knew the Italian immortal fairly well. He found himself entranced with the little boy's easy laugh. It gurgled in his throat like water rushing in a brook. The little Machiavelli smiled often and was full of energy.

The younger Italian immortal slept on and off for days after getting off of the island, but once his aura was replenished, there was no keeping him down so long as the sun was up. Billy, who was getting better by the day, delighted in goofing with him. The Flamels came back into their shared motel room one day to find Machiavelli perched on Billy's toes, dancing to the music on the radio. Machiavelli shrieked every time he was dipped backwards. Neither immortal was aware of the married couple until Billy swung Machiavelli around in a wide swirl.

Machiavelli turned red and hid his face behind Billy's legs, but Billy grinned openly, displaying two slightly bucked teeth on an otherwise handsome face. The American immortal virtually shone with life, all smiles, dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned white dress shirt. Billy had never been in love before and while he faced unique circumstances which posed some obvious problems, he was enjoying spending time with the person with whom he wanted to build a history.

Machiavelli the kid was certainly more openly affectionate than Machiavelli the adult. Billy was a frequent recipient of Machiavelli's gratitude, not surprisingly, as Billy went out of his way to make the young boy smile.

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Machiavelli had been about three when they had first got off of Alkatraz. A week later, he had aged at least a year physically. With several inches of ankle showing, the group of immortals decided they were going to have to buy him a wardrobe with growing room built in. Black Hawk and the Flamels sent Billy to buy clothing for the boy as he was most comfortable with the American and they began to shift their possessions to a remote seaside cottage they had bought to regroup in.

Thus Billy found himself in a department store, pushing Machiavelli around in a cart and getting a lot of smiles from the mothers shopping around him. Billy smiled back, but leaned close to the little boy and whispered, "Mac, I don't know what I'm doing? What do I buy?"

The little boy spread his arms wide. "How should I know?" he demanded in a similar whisper.

"Oh, come now Mac, you had kids," Billy hissed and held up a pack of underwear with Marvel superheroes on it. He squinted at the sizing chart, shrugged and then dumped a pack of underwear in every size in the cart.

The little boy actually rolled his eyes. "Yeah, in the fifteenth century. There were no Ames' back then."

Billy flashed a smile, "There are no Ames' now. Never mind Mac, I know how to handle this." He approached a pocket of mothers eyeing him. "Afternoon, ladies. I was wondering if you could help me." He grinned sheepishly. "See my wife normally does the clothing shopping and I have no clue what to do."

The group of women sprung into action immediately. One woman asked how old Billy's son was. Billy answered 'four' at the same time that Machiavelli said 'five'. Billy just patted Machiavelli on the head and shrugged as if to say "kids". If anything, the group of mothers melted a little bit more. The women showed Billy how to find clothes the right size and conversed critically about what color would look best with Machiavelli's olive skin. After Billy told the women he had two more sons just a little bit older than Mac, they started throwing in bigger sizes too. Billy waited for the estrogen cloud to subside a bit before thanking the women profusely and exiting the clothing department.

Machiavelli twisted around to look at the filled cart. "I know I authorized you to use my credit cards, Billy, but I thought you'd exercise a little control."

Billy kissed the boy on the lips, a quick peck. "How often do you go on shopping sprees, Mac? Have some fun." He got momentarily distracted. "And speaking of fun," he trailed off and changed directions. "Let's go to the toy section.


	5. Chapter 5

"Come on Mac," Billy said. He picked up the little boy and set him down so that he could see the toys in the aisle easier. He rubbed the boy's head. "Let's pick up some toys for you."

Machiavelli protested. "Billy, I'm not really a kid."

Billy tossed a basketball in the cart. "I know. But it took you about a week to age a year. I figured," he scratched at his face, "that if you continue to grow at this rate, it'll be a couple of months before you're an adult again." He shrugged. "You might as well have fun."

Machiavelli shrugged back. Billy didn't always make sense to him, but he figured he would humor the American. He was fond of Billy and besides, it was boring hanging around with nothing to do. He tugged at Billy's pant leg. "If I pick out some toys, can we get some books too?" he asked. Billy assented, so Machiavelli set to poking around the boys' section. Billy followed behind him, pausing to throw a nerf gun and two foam swords in with the ball. Machiavelli critically assessed a flaming pink aisle of Barbie dolls and went down the next aisle.

Billy was looking at some books when he heard an excited shout. Machiavelli ran up to Billy and grabbed his hand. "Come on," he hollered and pulled the American into the aisle.

"Look, Billy, look." Machiavelli was unusually loud. Billy squatted next to the excited boy and put a finger to his lips. The boy quieted instantly, but pulled Billy in closer. "Look," he urged and pointed.

Before them was a display of model cars. One in particular caught Billy's eye and he knew this was what had caught Machiavelli's eye. On the shelf above Machiavelli was a 1960 dark red convertible Thunderbird. The Italian looked up at Billy and grinned. "Can we get it, Billy?" he asked hopefully. He stressed the individual syllables in Billy's name.

Billy's heart melted. He agreed easily. The American pulled the box down and let Machiavelli carry it, but picked up the boy and walked back to the cart. He stood Machiavelli up in the seat and helped him slide his feet back into the correct spots. "Want anything else, Mac?"

"No," Machiavelli said. His eyes shone. "I've got everything I want."

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The next morning, Billy was sitting alone by the pool. He heard a loud noise coming from the motel but dismissed it until the Italian showed up by his side.

"Billy?" Machiavelli whimpered. He tugged at the man's shirt sleeve.

The outlaw looked up from his newspaper. "Mac? What's wrong kid?" He felt a wave of concern wash over him and he reached out to touch the little boy, uncertain if Machiavelli was going to let him touch him. Even though the immortal was stuck in a little boy's body, it seemed like he was unwilling to be treated as such. "What's the matter?"

"I fell," Machiavelli warbled. He blinked through his tears. "I hit my head. It hurts." Billy pulled the Italian into his lap and inspected the back of his head. There was a bruise already beginning to form there. The American winced in sympathy.

"You've got quite the goose egg forming, Mac." Billy pulled a paisley handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped down the Italian's face. "I'm sorry, kid."

"It's okay," Machiavelli said, trying and failing to get his breathing under control. The Italian was getting progressively more upset and the fact that he was getting upset was upsetting him further. He struggled to maintain control, but lost it a little when Billy kissed him softly. "I don't know why I'm upset," he wailed.

"Shh, Mac.!" Billy hissed quickly. He looked around and softened his tone. "You're going to bring the others in here," the American soothed. He rocked the Italian in his arms. "You're upset because you're hurt. That's okay. I can understand that."

Machiavelli shamelessly turned into the American's hug. He hung on Billy's neck, feeling the warmth of the other man seep from Billy's torso into his own. The pain dulled in the back of his head and a feeling of peace settled on him. Because the other man wasn't objecting, Machiavelli decided to stay in that position.

Billy turned the pages of the newspaper on the table in front of them. Occasionally, he would kiss the Italian's forehead. "You know, Mac, I kind of like you being little."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. I've always wanted a family." Billy gently traced a line on the boy's knee. "I always thought it would be nice to have someone love you unconditionally."


	6. Chapter 6

At first Machiavelli played with the toys to humor Billy, but after a while he found that there was something oddly satisfying in cocking shut the nerf gun and shooting a distant target, such as Nicholas Flamel who sat across from him at the dinner table. Nicholas took his shooting surprisingly well, perhaps because the Italian immortal's shot had hit Black Hawk instead. After that incident, Billy had promised to teach Machiavelli how to shoot and aim the gun properly, a skill the Italian surprisingly lacked considering his age and experiences. But then again Machiavelli had always been content to provide the plans for attack and wait, inconspicuous, in the background for others to initiate such plans.

The difficulty in using the Nerf gun appeared to be a loss of ammunition. Within a day of Billy and Machiavelli's shopping trip, the foam bullets were either lost, damaged, or, in some cases, hidden by the other immortals. Billy shrugged and said that this was always the case with guns and that they'd have to buy more bullets next time they were in town.

The loss of the Nerf gun's use didn't bother the Italian too much at any rate. The Italian immortal was particularly fond of his model car, which was quickly becoming a favorite of his. The young boy liked to push the car around the house, often holding it with both of his hands and becoming so intent on pushing the car that he ran right into objects: for instance, the walls, Billy, the couch, Billy, the bathtub and Billy were some of the frequent obstacles the Italian hit. Machiavelli couldn't deny that he was having fun.

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"Billy," Machiavelli tugged at the American's jeans. "Billy," he tried again.

The Kid had been sleeping on the front porch of the seaside cottage they were staying at. He had fallen asleep watching the little boy push around his red model car. Billy had bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. For an old Italian diplomat, Machiavelli seemed perfectly content to play with his toy.

Now he blinked blearily. He groaned, rubbing the small of his back. He cocked his eyebrow at Machiavelli. "What's up, Mac?" he asked.

The little boy grinned hopefully at Billy. "Want to play a game?"

"Sure," the outlaw agreed easily. "What do you want to play?"

The Italian immortal smiled but scuffed his toe on the ground. He tilted his head and said, "Want to play cowboy?" He smiled sheepishly at Billy and Billy laughed.

"All right. We can be cowboys."

Machiavelli's smile widened. He patted Billy's face and said, "Cowboy. Only one," he amended. He continued, "I'll be the cowboy."

"I don't get to be the cowboy?" Billy asked bewildered. "I don't know," the American said slowly, "I'm always the cowboy. What am I going to be if I'm not the cowboy?"

Machiavelli positively beamed. "The horse."

Billy initially was going to protest, but he came up with a better plan. "All right," he agreed. "Any good cowboy does need to know how to ride a horse." He lifted Machiavelli onto his shoulders and jumped down the steps. Machiavelli clung to his head and giggled. "Of course," he continued. "Sometimes the horse can be difficult." And he bucked his shoulders.

Machiavelli shrieked as he was jiggled and dipped. Billy ran like a madman down the shoreline, sometimes cantering, sometimes prancing. Once, Billy gave a fairly undignified neigh and skipped sideways. Machiavelli's giggles grew louder when Billy attempted to run into the ocean and he tugged firmly on the American's left ear, urging him as it was to move away from the water. Billy finally sank to the ground, worn out. The Italian slipped off his back and embraced Billy from behind. He stuck his head next to the outlaw's and gave him a sloppy open mouthed kiss on his cheek.

Billy yawned. All the roughhousing had taken the wind out of him. He elaborately laid backwards, effectively pinning the boy to the ground. "Oh yeah, Mac," he muttered. "This is the life."

Machiavelli crawled out from beneath Billy's lanky form. He laid in the beach grass beside the outlaw. "Was it fun being an outlaw, Billy?"

The American rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "Sometimes," he smiled at the boy. "Not the last couple of years so much, but when the getting was good, it was a lot of fun."

Machiavelli turned over on his side so that he was facing Billy. "Can you teach me how to have fun Billy?"


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Please feel free to leave comments and suggestions in the review section. I am especially interested in ideas for what Billy and Machiavelli should do as Machiavelli gets to be an older child. Thanks~

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Sometimes after dinnertime, the immortals would leave behind their cottage to walk along the beach. They enjoyed the waves breaking on the shore, though they were all careful not to actually enter the water, perhaps remembering the Lotan and Nereids. The Flamels picked their way along carefully, whereas Billy, Black Hawk and Machiavelli plunged ahead, the little boy in particular running up and down the dunes, now splashing in the tides pools, now climbing along the slippery rocks. Every once in a while Billy would call to him and Machiavelli came scurrying back to him.

One Saturday night, the immortals decided to have a cookout on the beach. None of them really enjoyed the food being immortal, except perhaps Machiavelli who ate with gusto, nor did they need the food after the initial aura regeneration, but it was a social occasion for them to get together at the end of the day. On this evening in particular, Billy interrupted Machiavelli before he was done eating. As the tides began to change, Billy grabbed Machiavelli's hand and said "Here's how we're going to have fun." And they ran after the waves as they went out and then turned and ran away from the waves as they came back in. Billy never let Machiavelli get too close to the water, but it was great fun to run on the wet sand.

This was all well and good until Machiavelli decided to take a flying leap into a sand pile. All of the immortals were a bit surprised to see the Italian make such an impulsive and rather ridiculous movement, but none looked more surprised than Machiavelli himself who now had sand between his toes, in his mouth, and in areas he didn't want to think about. He looked a bit disgruntled when Billy began chuckling and the other immortals caught on to his infectious laughter. The curly haired youth pouted a bit, shaking himself off and toddling over to the bigger group. Billy followed closely after him.

Machiavelli made to sit down again on the bench where the others were sitting, but Billy grabbed him from behind before he got settled. He hefted the Italian up in his arms, and backed away from picnic bench. He whispered in the boy's ear, "Want to fly, Mac?" The little boy grinned and nodded.

"Okay," Billy said cheerfully. He set the boy down so that he could get a better grip on him and scooped him up again. He dipped the Italian backwards so that Machiavelli was almost upside down and then just as quickly pulled him upright. He swung around in a circle so that the Italian felt like he was swooping through the air. Every once in a while, Billy would set him down, a bit dizzy himself. Machiavelli stumbled a little, but usually clamored for more. Billy tried swinging him in the other direction but found that he wasn't as capable of pivoting in the other direction.

Black Hawk eventually took pity on the younger American and took over his role. Black Hawk was particularly good at throwing the boy about ten feet into the air and catching him again. Billy weaved his way back to the picnic table where the Flamels sat and grinned happily at the couple. He touched Perenelle on her shoulder as he passed her and sat beside Nicholas. Nicholas smiled indulgently at Billy and moved over to make room. They watched Machiavelli and Black Hawk racing on the beach. The sun descended slowly upon the horizon line.

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Machiavelli was so much dead weight in Billy's arms, being half asleep and covered with wet sand. Since the Italian was mostly out of it, Billy had relieved him of his clothing at the back porch of the cottage and Perenelle Flamel was now shaking them out as he carried the boy over to the upstairs bathroom. The American was glad that the boy was mostly unconscious because he had a feeling that if Machiavelli was more in control of his senses, he would be resistant to getting a bath and that was what Billy intended to do at the moment.

Even almost asleep, Billy was surprised that Machiavelli offered little protest against Billy's actions. Instead, Machiavelli seemed intent upon beating the sand out from between his toes. Billy filled the tub with no incident from the young immortal. The American pulled off his t-shirt and wiped his brow off before picking Machiavelli up and setting him in the tub. He kept an arm behind Machiavelli who leaned heavily upon him. Billy handed him a face cloth to clean his privates off with and set to gently scrubbed the sand out of Machiavelli's hair. Once he had lathered up Machiavelli's hair, he took the face cloth back and covered the Italian's eyes while he poured water over his head, getting the suds out. Billy knocked the sand off of his shoulders and rubbed water beneath his armpits, the back of his knees, and behind his ears. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile at how Machiavelli had gotten sand all over the place.

Now completely clean, and half unconscious, Billy decided he better pull Machiavelli out of the tub before he fell asleep entirely. Billy pulled the plug in the tub with one hand and grabbed a towel off the rack. He quickly patted Machiavelli dry and roughly toweled his hair off. He pulled the towel tight around Machiavelli and carried him to the room Machiavelli got to himself at the back of the house. He laid the boy down on the bed and rifled through his closet looking for a pair of pajamas. He settled for a long sleep shirt with Spiderman on it and a pair of underwear. He managed to get the briefs on the boy without a struggle, but couldn't seem to figure out how to get the shirt on the boy with him now completely out of it and heavy with sleep. Finally, he figured it didn't matter much and tossed the shirt into the chair at the bottom of the bed and pulled the covers over Machiavelli.

He kissed Machiavelli softly on the forehead and left the room, turning at the doorway to look back at the boy. Machiavelli had turned on his side, his thumb somehow finding its way into the Italian's mouth. Billy turned off the bedroom light with a soft click, but left the hall light on. Billy smiled in the soft lighting.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I ship Billy and Machiavelli, but I know that not everybody does. So if you picture more of a platonic love between the two, that's fine by me, you'll just have to squint a bit to make everything fuzzy around the edges.

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"You would have been a good father, you know" a voice said behind Billy. He looked over his shoulder to see Nicholas Flamel.

He smiled. "You think so?" Billy asked. Not waiting for an answer he continued talking. "You look good, Nick. Healthier," he added. A cool breeze came off of the ocean. He glanced back at Machiavelli, watching the boy snuggle deeper into the blankets. Nicholas watched Machiavelli for a moment as well, then turned and began down the stairs. Billy followed him down. Nicholas sat beside his wife on the couch. "You really think so?" Billy asked again and this time waited for an answer.

Nicholas assented. Perenelle glanced at him questioningly and Nicholas hastened to explain, "I was just telling Billy he would have made a good father. He's good with Machiavelli." Perenelle nodded in agreement and even Black Hawk, sitting by the fire, gave a nod that showed he agreed with the Flamels.

"Oh, I don't think so," Billy broke the spell. The other immortals looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Billy swept a hand through his hair. "I was a father once," he confessed slowly. "Allegedly, at least." He grinned ruefully at the others.

"I read that in a book," Nicholas acknowledged. "Three daughters. Were they actually your children? There was no substantial evidence to support that."

Billy shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat. He wouldn't look over at Perenelle Flamel. "I'm not really sure. Isn't that awful? But I was quite the ladies man back then. So I expect they were mine. Three daughters that I know of, three different women. I sent money when I could. Felt bad. I never knew my father either." He paused. "The two of you never had children?"

There was something guarded in Perenelle's face. "No, never."

Billy looked over at Black Hawk. "I know you had kids," he told his friend.

"Five," Black Hawk acknowledged, growing a touch somber. "It's nice to have a kid around again, even if Machiavelli isn't really a child."

"I like having Machiavelli like this," Billy said slowly. "I never really thought about it before all this happened, but I've missed having a family, someone to care about you. When I had my kids, I was too busy running away from the law to stay with them, see them grow. And then I became immortal," he continued. "And it didn't seem fair to have a wife or kids then."

The room was quiet.

"I like having Mac here," Billy repeated. "But... I fell in love with Machiavelli the man. I love the boy, but I miss the man. Is that bad?" his voice rose a little at the end.

Perenelle leaned forward and touched his arm lightly. "No Billy, that's just being honest with yourself."

Billy looked away and into the fire for a moment. He let out a shaky breath. "Anyways," Billy concluded. "I figure this will only last a little while. He's already getting bigger, you know. Soon he'll be my Mac again. I think I should just enjoy watching him grow up. I never got to see any of my girls grow up." He leaned back.

"You didn't keep track of them after you became immortal?" Black Hawk asked carefully. Something in his face suggested he already knew why.

Billy eased out of his chair. "Nah, they didn't live that long. Died of diptheria, consumption." He smiled but it lacked his normal happy-go-lucky expression. "Anyways, I think I'll go check on the kid." He headed upstairs, but poked his head back down. "I mean, I'm the Kid, but I'm going to check on Machiavelli." He cocked his head to the side. "Maybe we'll go on a trip, see the sights." He smiled again, this smile genuine in nature. His eyes shone fever bright with excitement. The other immortals watched him climb the steps, skipping every other step.

"He's a good guy," Black Hawk said. "Bit scatterbrained, but the best man I've met in a long time."


	9. Chapter 9

Early the next morning, Billy shook Machiavelli awake. "What's up? the kid asked groggily and groaned in the early morning light. He rolled away from Billy and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Billy rolled him back over.

"We're going on a trip," Billy explained.

Machiavelli checked the clock on the bedside table. It was 5:32. "The others agreed to this?" Machiavelli questioned dubiously. Billy shook his head and explained that the two of them were going alone. Machiavelli groaned again, but clambered out of bed before he thought better of it.

"Good man," Billy clapped him on the shoulder and assessed him critically. He shook his head. "You shot up again, Mac."

Machiavelli looked around. It was true. Yesterday when he climbed out of bed his feet hadn't touched the ground. Now he could sit easily on the edge of the bed with his feet flat on the floor. He realized with a jolt that he had gone through a similar growth spurt nearly five hundred years ago. The change hadn't seemed so drastic back then because Florentines in the 15th century dressed in fairly loose clothing.

Now however, the change was much more noticeable, particularly the elastic digging into him. He slipped out of the underwear, rubbing at the angry red marks on his skin. "We should put me in looser clothing at night. That's when I seem to do all my growing," he told the American.

"Hmm," was the answer he got back. Billy was rooting through his bureau. The Kid was muttering to himself, but the Italian couldn't make out what he was saying. Every once in a while, he would hold up a package of underwear, look at the size, and shake his head. He tossed the offending package on the ground beside him. Soon, he had a ring of clothing around him.

"What's the matter? You can't find any in my size?" he stepped beside Billy.

"Not in the right size yet," Billy responded distractedly. He was now elbow deep in underwear. Machiavelli watched Billy's expression light up when he at last found the right size. He wondered how Billy could live his life so openly. He had once been known to say 'Everyone sees who you appear to be, few experience who you really are.' It just didn't seem to apply to Billy. Billy seemed happy, through and through. He wandered over to his bed.

He blinked when something soft and cotton hit him in the head. Billy had sling-shot a pair of Ninja Turtles underpants at him. Machiavelli climbed into them, mumbling how there was no record of Raphael liking pizza.

Billy tossed a pair of shorts behind him. Machiavelli supposed that meant they were for him. The Kid was still rooting through his bureau. "Ah," Machiavelli heard him say. "Found it."

"Found what?" Machiavelli asked suspiciously.

Billy unfurled his prize. On the shirt he held out was a copy of the famous tintype of him and under it was western style writing which spelled out 'Billy's Kid.'

Machiavelli sighed but held out his hand. Billy grinned and handed it to him. The Italian grumbled a bit, but pulled the shirt over his head.

Billy pecked him on the cheek and pulled him into a one armed hug. "Yeah, Mac," Billy smiled. "You're one good looking kid."

Machiavelli blushed. To change the conversation's direction, he asked, "Where are we going?"

"Don't know." Billy's smile never dimmed. He caught Machiavelli's incredulous look. He shrugged and motioned to Machiavelli's suitcase. "I figured you'd pick. Your paying after all. Now help me pack."

"You didn't even pack!"

Billy stood again, hands on his slender hips. "Well if I had packed, we would have had to repack it anyways. Yesterday, I had a five year old. You went and grew again."

Machiavelli shrugged. "Parenting's hard," he quipped.

"So how about Disney World?" Billy suggested.

Machiavelli pulled a face. "Poked, posed, and demeaned by men in costumes with big heads? Not a chance," he said decisively. He threw a stack of clothes in the suitcase and glanced sideways at Billy. A smiled furled at the corners of his mouth. "I know where I want to go Billy."

"Where?"

Machiavelli wouldn't give it away that easily. "You might not want to go," he cautioned. "See, Black Hawk was telling me last night about this museum in New Mexico." Billy made a face, but kept pakcing. Machiavelli pressed on. "They do tours on some cheap bum named William H. Bonney."

Billy dropped the suitcase on his foot and jumped a bit. The Italian smiled angelically up at him. "Guess it could be cool", the American said reluctantly, rubbing his foot.


	10. Chapter 10

Even with their early start, Billy and Machiavelli weren't on the road until it was nearly nine. By the time they climbed into Billy's Thunderbird, the other immortals were awake to see them off. Perenelle actually gave Machiavelli a hug before they left. Machiavelli flushed happily and slid into his seat.

When Billy told Black Hawk where they were going, the Native American shouted with laughter. Billy grinned himself then jumped over the car door and into the driver's side. He turned the car around, waved to the others and put his convertible into full throttle.

Billy grinned over at Machiavelli. "You know Mac, when you're a bit bigger I can teach you how to drive. For real this time." He waggled his eyebrows at the boy. Machiavelli grinned at Billy and stuck his head out the window to see where they were going. The wind whipped around his head; Billy groaned and pulled him back in. He kept his arm behind Machiavelli's seat as they sped down the highway.

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The air in New Mexico was hot and dry. Machiavelli was used to the heat, but not the dryness. Even before lunch, they had stopped twice to buy the boy a power drink. The European immortal was beginning to think this wasn't the best idea he had ever had. Still Billy seemed fairly happy speeding through the hot countryside, singing along with the radio. Machiavelli wished he felt as free to sing along as Billy did, but he didn't dare try.

"Was it always this dry Billy?" Machiavelli had rasped about seven hours into their journey.

Billy nodded. "The heat's why we moved here- my family and I. Mama had brought us down from New York to Kansas, but then she got sick with consumption and the doctors said her best shot was to move to a dry climate.

"Did it help her?" Machiavelli's eyes were wide and innocent.

"For a while," Billy acknowledged. "Listen Mac, we're supposed to be having fun. Both of our mothers are dead now- why worry about it? Let's have fun." He pointed to a sign on the side of the road. "Want to go to the amusement park? We're going to have to stop at some point anyways, the trip takes seventeen hours to get to Fort Sumner."

Machiavelli tilted his head. Normally, he would have rejected the idea. The thought of some of the rides looming ahead made him feel a bit queasy. But Machiavelli reminded himself that he was trying to imbibe some of the fun that Billy naturally possessed. "Sure," he agreed.

Billy was already in the process of taking the exit. "We'll have fun," he said happily.

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"Remember Mac, if you go around calling me Billy in public, people are going to look at me like I'm a pervert," Billy cautioned.

Machiavelli nodded. "Although, you could just be my older cousin or baby sitter or something."

Billy shook his head. "In my experience Mac, most people tend to think the worst of you. I'd like to ride the ferris wheel, not get strung up by an angry mob."

"All right, what do you want me to call you?"

"Oh, I don't care, whatever makes you comfortable." He appraised Machiavelli thoughtfully. "I think that I'll give you pet name too."

By that point, they had made it to the ticket stand. "Two tickets," he told the ticket agent. "One for me and one for my son." He put his hands on Machiavelli's shoulders. Machiavelli leaned back so that his weight was pressing into Billy. The ticket agent didn't even look at them as he rang up the bill of sale. The two immortals pushed through the turnstiles.

"What are we going to ride first?" Billy asked his Italian counterpart.

Machiavelli looked to his left and then his right. People were milling all around them. Machiavelli pointed to the Tilt-a-Whirl. They got in line. It was lucky that Machiavelli had shot up or he wouldn't have made the height requirement. As it was, the Italian was only an inch above the height requirement.

Because it was the middle of a Friday, the lines were minimal and the two immortals got on in their first go. "Pick a good one," Billy told him and Machiavelli shouted "Okay!" and dashed off to find the spinniest car he could find. They got into the seventh car and the attendant came by to strap them. At first, their car spun very little, but after going over the first bump the car began to rotate faster and faster. Machiavelli laughed so hard, the ride took his breath away. It was a rush.

After the Tilt-a-Whirl, the two immortals rode the bumper cars, the swings, the Tilt-a-Whirl again, and finally, the ferris wheel. Billy bought them both an ice cream at one of the stalls on the far end and they walked around looking at the carnival games.

Following the ice creams, Billy put Machiavelli on the carousel, but stayed on the ground himself. Machiavelli was riding a gray horse that went up and down. During the first rotation, he hung on tightly to the pole, but he soon overcame his fear. The second time he came around, he waved and yelled "Hi Daddy!" Billy felt his heart drop into his stomach. Billy waved back, staring at the Italian.

"They're really sweet at this age, aren't they?" the woman next to Billy said to him.

"Oh yeah, he's my sweetheart," Billy acknowledged. "Which one is yours? he asked the woman and she pointed to two girls, side by side, who were slightly behind where Machiavelli was. Billy found it surprisingly easy to talk to this woman, the two of them swapping stories about their 'children'. In the middle of telling her about their cowboy game, the ride stopped and Machiavelli came running over.

"Did you see me, Daddy? I rode the horse. He was a much better horse than you were," the boy enthused. Billy lifted him up in his arms. The two waved goodbye to Billy's new found friend and her two daughters.

Billy let Machiavelli ride on a kiddie roller coaster shaped like a caterpillar, then paid the extra fee to let Machiavelli jump around in a bounce house. The Italian had seemed to make friends with a little boy that Billy judged to be a similar age as him. Watching Machiavelli play, he could only imagine what the two of them were talking about. He decided he would ask the European immortal later on, if he remembered.

The final ride the two went on was the Scrambler, a ride where cars pivoted around on three individual arms. Billy allowed Machiavelli to climb in first, so that Billy would be on the outside when the momentum started to push them to the edges. As the ride began to spin faster, the immortals felt their stomachs drop. Machiavelli slid towards Billy as the momentum kicked in. He was thankful that he wasn't where Billy was sitting or he would have been flattened for certain. Machiavelli was sorry when it stopped.

As the two got off, Billy stumbled around a little, feeling a bit queasier than Machiavelli seemed to be. Machiavelli grabbed his hand as they left the amusement park. They made their way to Billy's Thunderbird. By the time they reached the car, Billy was feeling better and Machiavelli was drooping with sleepiness. Billy drove them to a nearby motel and ordered a pizza for supper. Machiavelli was asleep an hour later.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Feel free to review and tell me what you liked/didn't like. I'm still open to ideas for what Billy and Machiavelli will get into as he gets older.

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After another early morning departure and several hours of driving, the two immortals found themselves in front of the Billy the Kid Museum in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. They signed up for the tour which the woman at the front desk did happily, though she stared at Billy longer than was usual or polite. Billy shifted a bit under her gaze, but smiled at her nonetheless.

Soon, the two immortals were joined by two older women, a fat man wearing sandals and knee length socks, a married couple, and a young mother with three boys a little younger than Machiavelli. Billy grinned happily at the youngest boy who was wearing a bandanna tied around his neck and cowboy boots. The boy looked at Billy's boots with wide eyes. Machiavelli picked up on this interactions and wrapped his arms around Billy's waist, effectively claiming the outlaw as his. Billy didn't mind. He hugged the Italian to him. The tour started shortly after this unspoken interaction.

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"I can't believe you convinced me to go along with this," Billy muttered in Machiavelli's ear an hour later. He was carrying Machiavelli so that he could see over the adults' heads.

"What's the matter? You're not having fun?" Machiavelli whispered back.

Billy shrugged. "Wouldn't you find a tour of your life a bit dull? I lived through this already."

The tour moved away from the reconstruction of the original Silver City jail cell that had held Billy the Kid nearly a hundred and fifty years before. Machiavelli patted his shoulder. "I liked the story about you climbing up the fireplace to escape jail. Did you really do that?" Billy nodded and was about to speak when the tour stopped again.

They had stopped in front of a large blown up copy of the famous tintype. Machiavelli shushed Billy so that he could hear the tour guide speak. Billy listened in too.

"This is the only verified image of Billy the Kid in known existence," the tour guide informed the group.

"Good looking guy, huh Mac," Billy whispered.

The tour guided continued to blather on. "Notice how one of the outlaws ears sticks out more than the other. Billy grimaced at her. He pulled at his ear.

"Notice the dull expression on his face," Machiavelli quipped. Billy pinched him, but he just giggled.

"If we were to go by this picture, it would be safe to say that Billy the Kid wasn't the most attract of men," the tour guide sank lower in Billy's opinion. "He was short, only about five foot eight or nine, his eyes seemed unfocused, and he dressed sloppily." Billy snorted. The tour guide went on, unfazed. "But actually most accounts from people who met him in person have said that this was a bad picture of him. Most of those who knew him found him quite attractive, especially the ladies," the tour guide emphasized the last point especially, winking at the adults in the group.

"Well that's more like it." Billy stood a little taller.

The tour guide looked once more at the picture. She got the last say in the matter. "Yes, Billy Bonney's only unattractive feature was his big buck teeth. The man looked like a squirrel. Attractive, lovable, but huge buck teeth."

That was too much for both the immortals. Machiavelli giggled uncontrollably and Billy pulled him to the back of the group. The Italian stuffed a fist into his mouth and tried to compose himself. "Yes, yes, very funny," Billy mumbled.

The tour continued down the museum, the guide apparently through with berating Billy's appearance for the moment. They turned the corner.

"Oh, man," Billy exclaimed. He pushed to the front of the group, pulling the European immortal with him. "How'd you get that?" he asked the tour guide, pointing to his Winchester rifle hanging on the wall. "Where'd you find it?" he mumbled.

The tour guide gave him a funny look. Billy had startled her out of her routine and it was clear that she didn't enjoy the fact. "We bought it at auction ages ago." She turned the the rest of the group, her tour guide instincts kicking back in. "As you saw from Billy's tintype, the young outlaw was rarely without his rifle, this rifle. It was with him at Fort Sumner in..."

Machiavelli tugged Billy back into the group.

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"Where are we staying?" Machiavelli asked over dinner. Billy had brought them to a diner down the road. The Italian had managed to coat his fingers and face with buffalo sauce from his chicken fingers.

"I'll tell you where we're not staying," Billy said firmly, wiping at Machiavelli's face with a wet nap. Machiavelli squirmed under the attention. "We're not staying at Billy's Bunkhouse. The sign's insulting." He pointed across the street to a gross caricature of Billy in a nightgown, looking for all the world, exactly the way their tour guide had described him.

"I like that picture," Machiavelli mumbled around a mouth full of mashed potatoes. He swallowed with some difficulty. "I was thinking of putting it my villa in Italy."

Billy squinted at the sign. "I wonder if I can steal it." One of the waitresses passing by gave him a startled look. He smiled charmingly at her. Machiavelli gave her his most winning grin. She smiled back and went into the kitchen. Both immortals dropped their grins. Billy continued on as if nothing had been said, "I don't need sleep, so I'll probably drive through the night up to a cabin I own in Montana. We'll stay there for a couple of days. Sound good?"

Machiavelli hmmed happily.


	12. Chapter 12

"Our first night in a cabin in the woods and you want to watch The Shining?"

"You don't want to, Billy? What are you scared?" Machiavelli asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Billy sized up the Italian. "Don't you think it's going to scare you, Mac? You're just a little boy."

Machiavelli shook his head. "I love The Shining," he said. His eyes glowed. "I've seen it at least a dozen times. It's a great psychological thriller. See, that's not scary. It's just a couple of elevators and chairs," he said, turning on the movie.

Billy shrugged. He settled down on the couch next to the Italian. He turned off the lights as the movie began.

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Nearly two hours later, Billy switched the light back on. It was a touch difficult with Machiavelli clinging to his side, but he managed. He turned off the movie with a click.

"Are you going to be able to sleep tonight, sweetheart?" He rubbed at the boy's back.

Machiavelli slowly let go of Billy. "I'll be fine," he said shakily. "It just seemed scarier than it usually does." He patted his chest, feeling his heart thump loudly. He took a deep breath in and let it out again. "Okay," he said at last. He held his arms up. He waited. Finally, he looked over at Billy. "You may put me to bed now."

Billy laughed and put his hands on his hips. "What's wrong with your legs?"

Machiavelli pouted a bit. He was just about to drop his arms when Billy gave in. The American picked him up under the armpits and hefted him up. Machiavelli wrapped his legs around Billy's waist. Billy took the stairs in his usual fashion, two at a time. Entering the Italian's room, Billy shifted him over to one hip and pulled the blankets down with his free hand. He dropped Machiavelli unceremoniously into his bed. The Kid then pulled the blanket up to Machiavelli's chin and tucked him in tightly.

"Read me a story, Billy?" Machiavelli asked. The boy's eyes were on Billy's face, imploring him to stay a while longer. Billy smiled and pulled a book from the front pouch in Machiavelli's suitcase. The front cover had a cartoon drawing of a man and a stegosaurus in a hot air balloon. Script on the basket of the balloon spelled out the title 'Fortunately, The Milk.

Billy settled in beside Machiavelli so that they could both see the illustrations. It was a funny, fast paced book which made Machiavelli giggle and peek at the next page before Billy could flip to it. Within an hour, they had finished the book.

Billy struggled out of bed. "Want the light on?" he asked the Italian. Machiavelli resolutely shook his head. "Okay." Billy kissed him lightly on the nose. "See you in the morning."

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"Billy?"

"Hmm?"

"Billy, please wake up," Machiavelli pleaded. He tapped the American roughly on the face and Billy awoke with a start.

"Mac?" Billy sounded confused. He sat up and switched on the light on his bedside table. The sudden wash of light revealed a trembling Machiavelli. "What's the matter?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Billy?" Machiavelli begged. He sounded scared. "I keep hearing things outside my window."

Billy opened up his blankets and Machiavelli gratefully climbed in. "I thought that movie was a bad idea," Billy mumbled into the Italian's hair. He threw an arm around Machiavelli. Machiavelli's trembling had stopped, so Billy turned out the light. He lightly stroked the boy's side and kept up a constant soft murmur. "You're safe now, baby. Nothing's going to harm you."

Machiavelli felt much safer. Billy exuded confidence, warmth, and aftershave. Nestling into this side, the Italian fell back to sleep.

Billy stayed awake long after Machiavelli fell back asleep. Inexplicably, he felt tendrils of fear grow in his stomach. He knew that Machiavelli was growing up and fast. Soon Mac wouldn't need him like this anymore and Billy would be alone again. The thought chilled him to the bone.


	13. Chapter 13

"Let's go into town, Mac," Billy said the next morning. "I need to get some supplies and then we can get you some books. I saw a shop when we drove through yesterday.

Machiavelli looked up from where he was pushing his car around. "I didn't see any bookstores," he said. He stood up and patted the dust off of his jeans. "I'd like to go," he said thoughtfully. He followed the American down the steps. "Can I pick out my own books?"

"Sure," Billy agreed amiably. "I might pick out some books for me too. Though I think you should pick kid's books. Match your mind. Then maybe this afternoon we can have an adventure."

Machiavelli was going to protest getting children's books, but got distracted by the last thing Billy had said. 'What kind of adventure?" Machiavelli swiveled to look at Billy, but the American just mysteriously shook his head and refused to say any more on the matter.

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They stopped first in a general store at the end of main street. Machiavelli liked the look of the shop instantly. It was a high storefront, painted a turquoise green and it had big display windows crammed with an odd assortment of interesting knick knacks. Before Billy had even finished parking, Machiavelli was craning out of the window and made note of a blue china set, a huge rocking horse, a display of watches and penknives, and several neat rows of handmade jams. An old silver sword hung inexplicably at the top of the display case.

Billy appraised the fading gold lettering of the shop sign as they approached the general store. He pulled Machiavelli to his side and quietly said in his ear, "Listen Mac, I've been in this part of the country before. People here don't always take kindly to strangers. Best to be on good behavior, all right?"

Machiavelli nodded. "Of course, Daddy," he said loudly. A pair of women passing them on the sidewalk, smiled at the European. The two immortals heard one of them say "look at his beautiful curls. Isn't he precious?" Machiavelli grinned.

"I won't be too long in here anyways."

"And then we'll get me some books," Machiavelli said happily, skipping ahead of Billy to open the door. He held it open for an older man and then followed Billy in obediently staying by his side, even though he longed to look in the back corner where all the toys were.

"Howdy," Billy greeted the man behind the counter, who had been looking at the little boy suspiciously. The man's surly look disappeared when he saw Billy and by the way they greeted each other, Machiavelli knew that they had met before. "How are you Patrick?" he addressed the man and pushed the European immortal forward a little.

"Look at you, coming by here every ten years or so with your 'how are you's'," the man scolded Billy, but smiled nonetheless. "And who's this?" he said looking at Machiavelli who felt uncomfortable suddenly being the center of attention between the two men.

"Ah. Patrick, I'd like you to meet my son Nick. I just adopted him." Billy wrapped an arm around Machiavelli's shoulders. He patted Machiavelli on the shoulder. "You don't have to listen to us, sweetheart. Go ahead and look around."

Macchiavelli grinned and headed for the back of the store. He could hear Billy's husky tone from across the room, fading as he moved farther away. The last thing he heard him saying to the storekeeper was "Well, you know it gets lonely, living by yourself Pat..." He looked around the toy section with wide eyes and poked his head around the corner to see Billy. The American had finished his conversation and was now gathering food. Machiavelli ran towards him. "Hey kid," Billy said. "See anything you liked?" The Italian nodded.

Finally, Billy finished up his shopping and followed the boy back to the toy section. Here, Billy threw in some toys for Machiavelli. He got a set of checkers, a couple of puzzles, and a game called Rush Hour. Machiavelli threw a couple of things he had seen and they went back to the front of the shop where Pat was reading the newspaper. Billy promised they'd stop in again before they left, and having paid for their supplies, put it all in the trunk and continued up Main Street to the bookstore.

A bell tinkled when they walked into the bookstore. Machiavelli's eyes lit up. Grabbing Billy's hand, he dragged the American to the back of the store where there was hardly anybody in the children's section. Holding onto his hand, he tugged on Billy and when Billy squatted down beside him, he told him a low voice. "Books used to be much more expensive, you know. My father worked for a whole season, copying down indices, so that he could pay for the newest book written by Livy."

"One book?" Billy squawked. Machiavelli shushed him.

"One book," the Italian agreed. But I used it extensively when I wrote the Livy Discourses."

"Well, your father must have really loved books," Billy settled back.

Machiavelli nodded. "He did. And I did too."

Billy smiled. The edges of his eyes crinkled. Conspiratorially, he told Machiavelli, "I loved books too when I was a kid. Still do, as a matter of fact. Sometimes I think that if I had been born in a different place or time, I could have been quite smart." He began to make a stack of children's books for the boy.

Machiavelli wrapped his arms around Billy's neck. "You are smart, Billy."

Billy gave him a kiss. "Well, a smarter man anyways. Listen, you can pick out some books for yourself. I'm going to get some for me.

"Okay," Machiavelli said distractedly. He had found a whole section of Roald Dahl books. He was entranced by the sheer volume of books around him.

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A hour later, Billy and Machiavelli climbed back into the car. "Hey Mac," Billy poked him in the side. "Look what I found." He pulled a book out of the bag in the back seat and handed it to him. The European immortal turned it over and got an electric shock, finding a picture of himself on the cover.

He squinted suspiciously at the outlaw. "Is this payback for the museum?" Billy laughed.

"Come on, angel. We'll put some lunch in you and then we can start our adventure."


	14. Chapter 14

"Billy, I don't know about this," Machiavelli whimpered. He tugged experimentally on the strap of his helmet. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Sure," Billy said, pulling at the straps on the boy's life vest. "I used to do this all the time before you were born."

"Yeah, I doubt that," Machiavelli muttered. He looked up at the sign by the loading dock. He mouthed the words to himself, "White water rafting."

"Don't worry so much, Niccolo. I swear to you that we're both going to have fun." Billy's eyes were understanding. He pulled the boy closer to the docking station and pointed to the raft they would soon be climbing on. "See over there. That's our guide. I already talked to him and we're going to put you in the middle of the raft. No danger of you falling out. I'll be right beside you." He flashed a smile. "Besides, we're going on the South River trail. It's the easiest ride. Remember, we're going on an adventure."

A whistle sounded and all the other people in the area began moving towards the docking port. Machiavelli grabbed onto Billy's hands. Billy let go only once, to climb onto the raft and then held out his hands to guide the boy into place. Machiavelli swallowed. "An adventure," he said softly to himself.

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Like so many other things he had experienced lately, the Italian found that the initial fear was far outweighed by the fun he experienced after. He looked over at Billy happily. Billy was drenched to the skin, having fallen in the river twice already. He had come to the conclusion that the outlaw had no shame, grinning widely each time and climbing back into the raft.

Machiavelli screamed a little as they went over another patch of rapids, but nobody heard him with all the sounds of the rushing water around them. The water poured in from all directions, splashing up and twisting like letters in a never ending letter. The raft they were on crested a particularly high rapid and swiftly dropped again, leaving all of the passengers with the feeling that their stomach was still dropping long after they leveled again.

The Italian immortal squinted in the mist and spray of the river. The people on the outside of the raft paddled to the left and the group swung around a river bend. He was very disappointed to see they had reached the other loading dock.

Billy climbed out of the raft after Machiavelli. Reaching back, he helped pull two women from their section of the boat onto the dock. Machiavelli tugged impatiently on Billy's shorts. "Daddy, can we do it again?"

"We were on the river for three hours." The American swung him up in the air and pulled him into a tight hug. "Another time, I promise, sweetheart. We should get back have dinner."

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed reluctantly. "But remember, you promised."

"I'll remember. I keep my promises."

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Machiavelli puzzled over his Rush Hour game while Billy prepared dinner. "Did you have any siblings, Billy?" he asked, pushing the cars around.

Billy glanced over at him. "I had a brother Joe. We called him Josie when we were little." He began setting the table in front of the Italian, pushing the game away to make room. Machiavelli let him, focusing his attention instead on the outlaw.

"I had two sisters and two brothers," he told Billy. He spooned some carrots and mashed potatoes on his plate." I was the middle child. But I think my father liked me best. We remained close friends my entire life," he added.

"Oh yeah?" Billy sat down beside Machiavelli. He tilted his head. "I think my mama loved us both pretty equally. But she always called me her baby Henry, even though Josie was much younger."

Machiavelli nodded. "She must have loved you, Billy."

"Naturally. I am pretty lovable."

"So, what ever happened to Josie?" Machiavelli wanted to know.

Billy thought for a moment. Machiavelli instantly wished he hadn't asked- of course, Billy's brother must be dead by now. But Billy chose to answer the question. "After my mama died, my step father put us in separate foster homes. He didn't want to stay around with her gone and he didn't want to take us with him. A couple of years later, I started getting in trouble with the law and had to run."

"So you never saw him again?" Machiavelli's eyes were wide.

"I saw him once more before I was 'executed.' He nearly shot me."

Machiavelli dropped his fork on the floor. "What? He shot you!"

"Nearly. I came back to visit him before going into hiding. He thought I was a horse thief and was aiming to shoot me on the spot." The American picked up Machiavelli's fork and tossed it in the sink, got him a new one. He shrugged. "After that, I never saw him again. But I imagine he became a respectable man. We were always so different, he was serious and straight forward. And I got in trouble all over the place."

Machiavelli went back to eating. "That's sad, Billy."

Billy shrugged again. "That's the price of immortality. Lucky for us, we have each other."


	15. Chapter 15

Billy came down the next morning to find a morose Machiavelli pressed up against the window, watching the rain pour down. The water fell from the heavens in thick sheets, although that could possibly be an illusion conjured the branches of the trees which stretched above their remote cabin.

"Good thing we put the car under the carport, huh Mac?" Billy patted the Italian's head.

"Yeah."

Billy fell haphazardly into the arm chair by the window. "I can't help but notice you seem a bit down, sweets," he observed gently.

Machiavelli couldn't help but whine. "We're going to be stuck inside all day." He blinked, not accustomed to hearing his voice sound like that.

Billy pulled a face thinking. "Not necessarily," he said at last. "It's good weather to run around in the rain."

"Run around in the rain?"

"You know, Mac, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a mirror. Quit repeating everything I say back to me. I know what I said." He looked out the window. "You never played in the rain, as a kid?" he asked suddenly. "Hmm. It didn't rain much back in New Mexico, but when it did Josie and I spent hours out there."

"No," Machiavelli said surprised. "We're weren't a very affluent branch of the family, but we had our dignity to preserve." He paused, then asked hesitantly, "Won't we get dirty, Billy?"

Billy was already pulling off his boots. "That's the fun of it. Come out with me, Mac. Everyone should play in the rain once in their life," he begged.

Machiavelli hesitated a moment longer before he toed off his shoes and followed the outlaw out in the rain. He jumped to one side the moment his feet touched bare ground. For summer, it was shockingly cold, as well as wet, squishy, and muddy. Billy ran away from him and the front porch into the rain and held his arms out, his face turned upward to the sky above. Machiavelli squelched his way through the mud to stand by his side.

Unexpectedly, the American grabbed him under the armpits and swung him around in a circle. He lost his footing and they both crashed down into the mud.

Machiavelli held up a handful of mud thoughtfully, then decisively flung it at the American, who quickly retaliated. Soon, the two were engaged in a mud flinging war, though the rain washed away any traces of evidence.

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By late afternoon, the two immortals were drenched to the skin and quite chilled. Billy finally prevailed upon Machiavelli to come in, quipping Machiavelli's own catchphrase 'immortal, not invulnerable'. Billy pulled one of his patterned bandanas out of his coat and used it to wipe the Italian's face dry before limping (the mud war had turned nasty) into the living room to build up a fire.

Machiavelli proceeded up the stairs to shower and change, but paused halfway up to look over at Billy, who stood before the fire, his clothes clinging to his skin. The Italian shook his head a bit and climbed the rest of the way up. By the time he was out of the shower, the outlaw had changed into flannel pants and a faded t-shirt, and was stretched out on the couch, which he had obviously pulled closer to the fire. The European grimaced a fraction, seeing Billy reading the Machiavelli biography.

Climbing onto the other end of the couch, he asked curiously "What's that book saying about me now?"

Billy squinted. "It's talking about dragging some dead guy's body through the streets of Florence," he marveled disbelievingly.

"Oh, Jacopo Pazzi," Machiavelli recognized what Billy was talking about instantly. "He was political opponent of the Medici family, executed for killing one of the princes. His body was dug up several times and eventually stripped naked by some village children and dragged through the streets by the hangman's noose he had been buried with." He said all of this matter of factly, as if it was a common occurrence.

"And I thought life was tough in the West," the American mumbled.

"Anyways, Billy, put that book away. It makes me all self-conscious when you read that in front of me."

Billy looked up again. "Oh, sure, Mac." He set the book aside. "Want me to read you a book, Mac? I've got something here... somewhere..." He pawed through a whole stack of books and finally pulled out a copy of Treasure Island that looked like an original copy. He looked almost shyly at Machiavelli. "What do you think, old man?"

Machiavelli nodded happily and climbed into Billy's lap. Billy shifted slightly and opened the book. In a strong, clear voice, he read out "Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end ..."


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Thank you to the guest who left the suggestion for me. I think that paintball would be a great idea for the outlaw and the tactician, although I might wait until Machiavelli's a bit older, what with insurance claims and all...

* * *

The sun shone through Billy's window waking him up from a deep sleep. He rolled over lazily and glanced at alarm clock on his bedside table. The red neon letters showed that it was nearly half past ten. The American outlaw shot up, vaguely annoyed that he had slept so long. He tromped downstairs to find Machiavelli working his way through Treasure Island.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long, Mac?" he called to the boy, sticking his head out the window to look up at the sky. Machiavelli didn't answer, having been sucked back into the book. Turning around the outlaw noticed that his Italian companion had grown again last night. He crept up on Machiavelli, deciding to ham it up a bit.

At the last moment, Machiavelli heard the American behind him but before he could say or do anything, Billy grabbed up the boy and tossed him in the air. Cradling him in his arms, he pretended to cry a little. "My baby's growing up," he joked, his face buried in the front of Machiavelli's shirt.

"Put me down," Machiavelli feigned annoyance, but Billy could see him smiling. Billy dropped him back onto the couch. The Italian immortal picked up Treasure Island again. "It's easier to read by myself now," he told the American, "but still not as easy as it should be." He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

Billy leaned on the back of the couch. "It's probably your child's brain fighting with your adult's mind."

"I suppose so," Machiavelli acknowledged. He put the book aside. "What are we going to do today?"

Billy shrugged, heading into the kitchen. "Want to go to the playground?" Machiavelli heard him shout. "There's an old wooden one down the road. I'll push you on the swings," he enticed, coming back into the room with an apple.

Machiavelli was about to answer, but got briefly distracted by the way Billy ate his apple. Somehow, the outlaw managed to fit half of the apple in his mouth with each bite. Three bites later, he had finished the apple. "Your stomach's going to think you forgot how to chew," he told the American. "What are you doing?" he queried, watching Billy pack a basket.

"We're going to the park. I'm packing a basket."

"Didn't I have a choice in this just a minute ago?"

"Yes, but then I realized we have a whole refrigerator full of food we need to use up, so we're going to have a birthday party in the park and use it all up." He pulled on his cowboy boots.

"How economical," Machiavelli quipped. But he shoved his feet in his sneakers. "Billy, before we go to the park, can we get me a new pair of shoes? These ones are getting awfully tight." He shifted his feet around.

"Course," Billy grabbed up the basket and slung it in the back seat. The two immortals climbed into the car and Billy turned the engine over with a loud roar. Soon they were racing down the roadway, Machiavelli enjoying the swooping feeling when Billy let the car coast down the hill. It felt almost like riding the rapids again. The two coasted into town, Billy gliding easily into a spot on Main Street. The Italian envied Billy his ease with the car. The last time Machiavelli had rode a car, he had driven it straight into the Italian Riviera and had since lost his desire to drive. Still, Billy made it look fun, he thought as they walked down to the shoe shop.

They turned into the shop. Billy asked the girl behind the counter if she could fit his son for a pair of shoes while he ran an errand. With his good looks and easy charms, he got the woman to agree with minimal effort. Bidding Machiavelli to behave, he went next door to buy a 'birthday present' for the Italian.


	17. Chapter 17

"Like my new shoes, Billy?" Machiavelli asked as they drove over to the playground. He swung his feet back and forth. "They light up when I walk," he told him excitedly.

Billy glanced at his shoes before turning his attention back on the road. "They look good, Mac. You'll be the talk of the town."

Machiavelli held his hands up in the air, feeling the wind slip through his fingers. It felt like water running into his hands.

"That looks like fun," Billy said. "I think I'll do it too." He took both hands off the wheel and he raised his hands above him. He laughed at the scared expression on Machiavelli's face. "Relax Mac. We're on a flat, straight portion of the road. There's no danger involved. But this is our turn." And he spun the wheel to the right. Stopping the car, he walked around the car and opened Machiavelli's door. "Here you are, sir." He bowed deeply.

Machiavelli giggled and climbed out. Walking into the park, he noticed a boy, smaller than him, swinging at the very end of the swing set. Something in the boy's face seemed pinched, as if he was tired or sad or something. The Italian noticed the boy was looking at him and Billy, but when the boy saw him looking back, he quickly looked away. Machiavelli thought his behavior was odd, but put the thought aside when Billy pointed out the zip line at the far end of the playground.

He trotted behind Billy, turned around to look at his footprints in the sand and consequently tripping over the wing of a large wooden airplane. He looked appreciatively at the craftsmanship of the plane, but gave it up as too young for him. "How'd you find this place?" he asked the American, ducking under a jungle gym.

"The playground?" Billy asked, pulling him onto a huge tire turned on its side at the end of the zip line. He walked about fifteen feet down to grab the rope the Italian was going to be hanging onto. Machiavelli shook his head.

"No, the town," he called to Billy who pulled the rope towards him.

"Oh, that," Billy said. He shrugged. "I helped found it in 1912. Stayed here for a while." He said this all very nonchalantly and held out the rope.

The Italian pulled himself up on it, resting his feet on the knot at the end of the rope.

"Ready?" Billy yelled. "One...two...three... go!" He heaved the rope. Machiavelli swung down forty feet, hit the end of the line, swung parallel to the ground, and then came back about halfway. Billy had followed him down and now pulled him back to the end of the zip line. "Want to go again?" he asked and when Machiavelli nodded, he swung the line out and snapped it down the line. This time Machiavelli jumped down after the line came back around.

"Woah," he said, stumbling a little. "That was fast."

"Was it fun?" Billy queried. The European nodded, cross eyed. "Come on, let's see what else there is." He led the boy over to the main wooden structure which was built like a large ship, complete with bridges, steps, and slides.

"Billy, you see that boy over there on the swings?" Machiavelli asked, climbing up a ladder.

Billy didn't bother looking. "The one who's been staring at us since we got here? Yeah, I've been keeping an eye on him."

"What do you think his story is? Do you think he's been abused?" Machiavelli climbed up the jungle gym. He got about halfway up and froze, apparently too afraid to go up higher or down lower. Billy held out his hands and Machiavelli jumped into his arms.

"I don't know. Something seems to be up. But I don't know that we should investigate- it would draw attention on us." He rubbed his head. "You could try to make friends with him, if you're really that curious."

Machiavelli cocked his head, then nodded. "Something just doesn't seem right with him. Somebody should look out for him."

"Okay, sweets, but how about for now, we just go on the swings?" The Italian took off. "Race you," he called over his shoulder. Billy took off after him, shouting.

Naturally, Machiavelli won. He pulled himself up on the swing. Billy was about the settle beside him on the next swing over, but was stopped by the Italian. "Remember you said you'd push me?"

"Sure, sure." Billy got up and stood behind him. He pulled him back and let him go. The second time he came back, the American gave him a hearty push forward. "Want a push?" he asked the kid next to them. The kid nodded slightly. "Okay, tell me when you want me to stop." Soon both boys were flying. "How are you doing, Nicky?"

"Fine," Machiavelli yelled, leaning back.

"Good. I'm going to get the basket and my book." Billy gave the other boy one more push and left the two boys together. "I'll be over in the gazebo when you want to eat," he called back to them.

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Machiavelli brought over the boy to the picnic table at lunchtime. The boy introduced himself as John. Machiavelli knew that Billy noticed how John scarfed down half of the food. The American subtly pushed more than one serving the boy's way.

"So, where do you live John?" Billy asked him.

John pointed to the north. "The gray house," he said. He looked curious. "Nick says you live in that old cabin on the side of the mountain? I've never seen anybody there before."

Billy nodded. "It's been in my family since this town was founded. I come up every once in a while, check up on the place."

"This is my first time up here," Machiavelli chimed in. He looked up at Billy, his forehead wrinkled. "How did you fit a cake in this basket?" he asked curiously.

"Why do you have a cake?" John interrupted shyly.

"It's his birthday," Billy explained, pulling a cake out of the basket. He cut it up and put a big piece in front of both of the boys. "I've got a present for you too, M- Nick. It's here when you want it." He tapped at a small present.

"You didn't have to do that," Machiavelli scolded but reached for the box nonetheless. He smiled when he opened it. The box contained a pendant on a necklace. Written in fine script were the words 'Tu sei l'amore della mia vita'. His throat felt suddenly dry, tight. He looked up at the American, wanting to say something to convey his emotions properly, but all he could do was ask, "Could you put it on me?"

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Machiavelli came down the stairs in the middle of the night to find Billy watching an old rerun of what turned out to be I Love Lucy. He rubbed at his eyes. "Why are you awake at this hour?" he asked the outlaw.

"I wasn't tired," Billy told him. "Besides, I'm the adult. I can stay up as late as I want."

Machiavelli poked him in the side. "I'm older than you."

"But I look older." Billy laughed at Bill Frawley's line. "Come on," he beckoned to the Italian, "Why don't you watch it with me for a little bit?"

"Sure." Machiavelli flipped over the back of the couch. He pushed Billy's knees off the couch and took their spot. Billy pulled his feet back up on the couch and draped his long legs over the boy's lap.


	18. Chapter 18

Machiavelli climbed on the hamper in the bathroom, watching Billy shave. "Why, in this day and age, would you shave with a straight razor?" he asked the American.

"It's what I learned to shave with," Billy mumbled, jutting his chin out. "Anyways, it's not like I have to do it a lot. Once a month or so, just so I know I still have a chin."

"I like you better clean shaven. You should do it more often," the Italian told him.

"You really want me to?" Billy frowned at his reflection. "It makes me look even younger than I am."

"You look fine to me," Machiavelli told him. He continued, "I was lucky, I never had much hair. My son Lodovico took after my wife's father. He'd shave in the morning and have a beard by the afternoon."

Billy laughed. He wetted down his face and washed off the rest of the lather. "Come here, Mac, you've got something on your face."

"I don't see anything." Machiavelli dropped off of the hamper and climbed onto the stool to look at his reflection in the mirror. He turned to tell that he didn't see anything and got a face full of lather. Billy smiled at him, dabbed the shaving cream on to fully cover his face, then whisked it away with the straight razor. Machiavelli stayed perfectly still, feeling Billy expertly handle the razor.

When he had cleared all the lather away from the boy's face, Billy leaned in and tenderly kissed him on the cheek. "There," the American said. "Now we're both clean shaven."

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"Are we going to the park again today?" Billy asked Machiavelli.

The Italian nodded. "I told John we were coming back."

"Have you found out what's up with him yet?" Billy called from the kitchen. "He acted like he hadn't ate in months yesterday."

Machiavelli played with the pendant around his neck. "I asked him where his parents were. He said his mother was at work. He didn't mention his father. I get the feeling he's not around him."

The American handed him the basket. "Well I packed extra food for him. Since you've got a friend, I'm probably going to spend the time reading."

"Are you still reading that biography on me?" Machiavelli asked the outlaw, somewhat grumpily. Billy nodded. The two immortals got into the car. "Learn anything interesting yet?"

"It's talking about your father a lot right now. Bernardo. Didn't you name one of your kids that too?" He glanced sideways at the Italian. "It says you had a great relationship with your father. That must have been nice."

Machiavelli touched the pendant again. "We did." He smiled fondly, remembering. He looked over at the American, wanting to ask him about his father, but didn't dare bring it up. Billy parked the car a moment later and Machiavelli stepped out, figuring that he had lost the moment.

The two separated after entering the playground. Machiavelli ran over to John who was waiting at the top of the boat structure. Billy set off in the direction of the gazebo, presumably to read some more of his book. Machiavelli was sure that he should be finished it sooner rather than later, considering the speed he had seen the American read at.

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Billy was just finishing his book when he felt his cell phone buzz. Rolling over on his back, he fished the phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. He grinned, recognizing the number as belonging to Black Hawk. He flipped it open and held it to his ear. "I was beginning to think you guys had forgotten about us," he scolded by way of greeting. He grinned at the response from the Native American immortal.

Hanging up a moment later, he checked his watch and decided he'd better grab the boys if they were ever going to eat. Looking around the playground, he wondered where the Italian had gone to and hoped he hadn't managed to hang himself or something to the effect. He spied the boys, kneeling behind a copse of trees.

Initially, he considered calling out to the boys, but then quickly came up with another plan. Instead of calling out though, he decided he was going to sneak up on the two boys, which would serve two functions: first, he would see how rusty he was at being detected and two, he remembered his early curiosity about what Machiavelli could possibly talk about with other children and wished to assuage his interest.

He padded through the sand, his footsteps soft and deliberate. He dodged from the ship structure to a telephone booth. Had there been any other parents there that day, he undoubtedly would have looked like a psycho or a pervert, but as it was, the day was cool and breezy and they were the only ones there. He made it to the other side of the trees without, he was pretty sure, any detection on the part of the children. Here, he settled down on the grass and shamelessly eavesdropped.

He caught the even timber of Machiavelli's voice in mid sentence: "...he's been really nice to me, but sometimes I feel guilty thinking about my real father and how much he loved me. I kind of feel like I'm betraying him somehow."

"Do you think he's trying to take your father's place?" Billy was taken aback. He hadn't considered anything of this sort, and suddenly felt that eavesdropping hadn't been a good idea at all. He strained to hear Machiavelli's reply.

"No, I mean, that's the difficult part. I know that Billy wouldn't do something like that, so I feel worse that I love him, cause sometimes I feel like I love him more than my own father and my father's dead, so he's not here to defend himself." There was a pause. "I don't really think about these things very much. Things are nice how they are. Every day is special. But I feel like I'm going to mess it up somehow."

John's voice was raspy, like he had been crying. "You're lucky you've had two fathers who love you. My father could never stand me. I think that's why he went away.

Billy decided he didn't want to hear any more of this. He felt funny, like he had barged in on something delicate and broken it to pieces. Only he hadn't seen any of it coming. He crept away and doubled around the structure once before calling out the boy's names, calling them to lunch.

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"John thinks we have a weird relationship."

"Why?" Billy tilted his head. "We have a great relationship."

"He heard me call you Billy. He thought that was odd. I told him that you adopted me." He looked over at Billy. "You think that's an acceptable story?"

"Sure," Billy asserted. "We just have to remember to stick with whatever we tell him or we're cooked." He paused. "Do you think we have a weird relationship?"

Machiavelli shook his head, then nodded.

"Well, that clears that up," Billy's rare sarcasm had come to the surface and Machiavelli bit back a laugh. "Thanks for settling the score."

Machiavelli tried to explain. "It must look a bit weird from the perspective of a normal human. You don't work and in a month or so when children everywhere are going to school, I assume I won't be. We spend all of our time together and never with people our own age." He traced quotation marks in the air around the words 'our own age.'

"I suppose." Billy sat beside Machiavelli on the couch. "Then again, most people our own age are dust by now. So that kind of throws a wrench in the works. But while we're on the topic of people our own age, the other immortals are coming up to stay with us for a while. They'll be up in a couple of days."

"That's good," Machiavelli said. "I was getting tired of seeing your ugly mug alone." He smiled, but then sneezed.

Billy wiped snot off of his shirt sleeve. "I'll have you know that my mug is beautiful. Girls from miles around used to come to cast their eyes on this mug."

The Italian giggled. "Can you read to me?" he asked, suddenly changing the topic. "We've only got a little bit left of Treasure Island left.

"Sure," Billy agreed. He picked up Treasure Island again and read aloud in his silvery voice. As he read, he felt the Italian settle into his side and when he was certain that Machiavelli was asleep, he shut the book. The boy's breaths came in heavy and uneven, his head cradled in Billy's lap. Billy didn't dare get up for fear of waking him. He remained on the couch, Machiavelli's head heavy in his lap, his words weighing on Billy's heart, and all the while snatches of Robert Louis Stevenson's words rolling through like the tide breaking on the beach.


	19. Chapter 19

Machiavelli felt heavy, like he was being pulled to ground by forces beyond his control.

Behind him, the Flamels were still trying to wake up Areop Enap. He should be helping them, he knew, but he had been distracted by the sight of the two American immortals huddled together, looking at the Karkinos. Anticipating what was about to happen, he struggled to reach Billy, but already the other immortals had sprung into action and he wasn't going to be quick enough, he just knew it. He was left helplessly framed in the doorway, watching as the younger man crept toward the gigantic crab. "Don't do anything stupid Billy," he begged softly.

But it was too late. He watched as the American stepped away from the side of the building and in front of the Karkinos. He could only watch in horror as the crab slammed one foot down, impaling the man he loved most. Machiavelli lurched forward, intent on saving Billy, but was thrown back by Mars Ultor.

Nearly hyperventilating, he clawed at the wooden doorvframe, desperately trying to keep his legs under him. "Billy," he whispered, watching the Native American immortal carry the outlaw back to the warden's house. He knelt beside him quickly, noting the blood on his lips, the jagged cut into the man's chest. He raised a hand to force his aura through the wound, but felt a hand grip his wrist. He looked up to see the Native American looking down at him.

"You can't help him. He's already dead."

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"Mac!"

Machiavelli awoke with a start. The light in his room was switched on and Billy was leaning over him, looking down with concern. The Italian touched his face which was inexplicably wet and stinging. "What hit me?" he asked confused.

"I did," the American confessed. "You were having a bad dream. I couldn't wake you up."

The Italian lay there, his chest heaving. He stared up at Billy, alive, in sharp detail. The echoes of his nightmare played on the edges of his mind and his face crumpled. he threw his arms around the outlaw's neck and broke down entirely. Billy was clearly baffled at what was going on, but ensconced the Italian in his arms nonetheless, and stroked his hair. Machiavelli couldn't stop crying and this frightened him almost as much as the nightmare had. His whole body heaved.

Billy, to his credit, allowed the Italian to cry himself out. Only after Machiavelli loosened his grip, hiccuping, did Billy ease him back down on the bed. He leaned over Machiavelli and swiped away at the boy's tears. "Feeling better?" he whispered, looking into the Italian's gray eyes. He sighed a little when the boy whimpered and shrugged helplessly. Bending a little more, he gently kissed the Italian's face. "What's happening?" he asked, feeling powerless.

Machiavelli blushed and pulled at his blanket. "I dreamed you were dead," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.

Billy stroked his hair. "I'm right here with you. Thanks to you. You saved me." He glanced out the window, giving the Italian time to compose himself some more.

Machiavelli wiped at his face roughly. "I'm sorry, Billy," he whispered. The American looked back at him with surprise, tilting his head questioningly. Machiavelli clarified: "I don't know why I keep crying so much. I knew the whole time that you were alive. It just seemed so real."

"You don't have to apologize," Billy admonished softly. "We all get nightmares. I don't particularly like to think about that night myself." He smiled ruefully at the Italian.

"I don't want to close my eyes," Machiavelli confessed.

Billy rubbed at the side of his head. He glanced at the clock on Machiavelli's side table. "You don't have to. The sun will be up in a couple of hours. I can read you the rest of Treasure Island if you want. We were just about to finish when you fell asleep earlier."

"Okay," Machiavelli tried to sound calm. "What about after that?"

Billy tilted his head and looked off in the distance. "After I finish the book? Anything you want- I'll even sing for you if it helps." The outlaw still looked concerned, but waggled his eyebrows at the tactician. He commenced to finish off the book, which took very little time, all thing's considered. Billy then sang him only the happy songs from Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, even dancing a little at the end which made Machiavelli smile. Billy's even timbre had a soothing effect on him and against his will, he felt his lids dropping closed again.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Machiavelli didn't get up until it was nearly noon and when he did come down, Billy took one look at him and told him he couldn't go anywhere. "Too sick," he said, tapping the boy on his nose. "I think all the worrying you've been doing made you sick," Billy told Machiavelli sounding guilty. He felt the Italian's forehead, then shook his head, paused and kissed his forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"Apparently, you can check for fevers this way. But I can't make heads or tails of it. We're going to have to get a thermometer." He stroked Machiavelli's flushed face.

Machiavelli leaned into his touch. "I can never tell when I have a fever. Marietta always took care of the kids when they were ill. Anyways, Billy, I don't think your emotions make you sick," he told the American.

"Maybe not," Billy admitted. "But my mother used to say that sickness followed sadness. I guess part of me still believes that." He paused. "You know, one time I asked her if she got sick because she was so sad after my father left. She never answered." Billy laughed weakly. "Kids ask stupid questions," he told the Italian.

Machiavelli kept quiet. He didn't think it was a stupid question, remembering some of the questions his children had asked of him, how some of them had really broke his heart. But he said nothing, knowing that Billy had never mentioned his father before, and might not continue now if he broke in. He wondered how much Billy knew of his father.

Something of his question must have showed in his face because Billy answered his thought. "I don't remember my father. He left shortly after I was born," he paused. "Possibly because I was born." Machiavelli winced, knowing that his children had seen very little of their father when they were growing up. He wished he could take it back now. Billy was busy measuring out cough medicine.

Machiavelli tried to forestall the awful tasting medicine. Climbing up onto the kitchen stool, he looked over at the American. "What about your stepfather, Billy?" he asked.

Billy paused, "I told you about my stepfather. He left after my mother died. Actually, he was gone when my mother died. Out prospecting, and he didn't come back until after we had already buried her. I was the one who made the arrangements." He held the spoon in front of Machiavelli's mouth.

Grudgingly, the Italian accepted the cough syrup. He spluttered. "It tastes bad."

"I know." Billy squeezed his knee. "Anyway, Mac, you don't have to worry about me taking your father's place. I don't know how to be a father." He stood up, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm going to make lunch now. Forget what I said, Mac, I didn't mean it."

Machiavelli straightened, looking up at the American. "How did you know about that?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Ah well," Billy ruffled his hair and looked to the side. "I might have eavesdropped on part of your conversation the other day," he mumbled.

"You what?!"

"Well... I didn't know it was going to be so serious. I just wondered what you would talk about with a kid, I didn't think it was going to be so serious." The outlaw scuffed at his cowboy boots. "I thought for sure you'd be talking about Pokemon or Yu-Gi-Oh, or something along the lines of that. Little boys shouldn't have these kinds of worries..." He looked into the Italian's face. "I'm sorry, Mac."

Machiavelli's face was tinged slightly with pink. He wasn't angry with Billy, knowing his own propensity to investigate others fully, but he was embarrassed and a bit ashamed by what Billy had overheard. "How much did you hear?" he finally asked.

Billy looked up and slightly to the right, trying to recall exactly what he had heard. He said slowly, "Just that you feel guilty about your father, what he might think about what we're doing. But," he emphasized. "I'm not trying to replace your father, it's just that..." he trailed off.

Machiavelli coughed and rubbed at his ribs. "Just what?" he tried to draw out the American.

The outlaw looked sheepish. "Before I was immortal, I never got to spend any time with the kids I had. And after I became immortal I realized that I was never going to have any kids. It wouldn't be fair to them. So, you're my one shot, Mac. I get you for as long as you're like this and that's it. No more kids for me." Billy had turned slightly pink while saying all this.

Machiavelli opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, his mind reeling. He hadn't thought about how Billy must feel about all of this, nor had he known that Billy had once had any children. Suddenly, he realized that the outlaw and him shared another level of understanding, one that he had never intended on talking about. Feeling slightly dizzy, he asked "Can I watch TV?"

Billy nodded, looking relieved.

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For lunch, Billy made them tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Machiavelli didn't have much of an appetite, but Billy broke off pieces of his sandwich, dipped them in the soup, and poked the pieces into his mouth. The Italian didn't resist Billy's ministrations, but he didn't help much either, numbly chewing.

"I'm really worried about you, Mac," Billy said finally. "Do you want to lie down, maybe get some more sleep?" Machiavelli shook his head. "Here, well let's watch some TV or something. Geez, but you're sweating."

Machiavelli looked up at him. "Am I sweating? I feel so cold."

Billy settled the Italian onto the couch. "I don't know what to do, Mac. Let's hope one of the others knows how to take care of sick kids." He wrapped a blanket around Machiavelli and put on an old Scooby Doo episode. The outlaw thought for certain that Machiavelli would protest, but the boy quickly became entranced with the show. Once, when Billy passed the living room, the Italian informed him that he was a dead ringer for Shaggy. Watching the cartoon for moment, Billy made the mental note to switch which medicine he was giving the Italian.

The American opened up the other rooms, getting the cabin ready for the others to arrive. Ruffling Machiavelli's hair fondly, he stepped out on the front porch to make a call. He dialed the number for Black Hawk and listened to it connect. "Hello, Black Hawk- Oh, hello Mrs. Flamel. Is he driving?" He listened to the Frenchwoman's response. "Listen, I was wondering if you could stop and pick up some supplies for me? Oh, good. Here's what I need..."


	21. Chapter 21

"That sounds like them," Billy called out a couple of hours later. Machiavelli hit pause on the TV and wandered over to where Billy sat beside the big front window. He leaned into Billy for support as the two immortals watched Black Hawk's jeep pull in from the main road. "Come on angel, you want to go see them?" Billy asked, picking up Machiavelli. The Italian nodded, his face leaning close to Billy's so that they were touching at the temples. Billy could feel the fever rolling off of him as they waited on the front porch for the others to park and come up.

"I remember this place," Black Hawk called to Billy as he climbed out of the Jeep. Meeting each other half way, they gave each other a brotherly embrace, Billy looping one arm around Black Hawk's shoulders. Black Hawk was looking at Machiavelli. "I hear you're sick," he said carefully to the Italian. The Italian nodded shyly and clutched at the outlaw. Billy bounced him in his arms before setting him down on the ground.

"He's getting bigger, isn't he?" Billy exclaimed happily. He looked over at the jeep where the other immortals had gotten out and if anything, his smile widened, seeing the familiar flash of reddish brown hair. "Scathach!" He threw his arms around her as she came up, twirling her in a circle. "I haven't seen you in a long time."

Scathach gave him a tight smile, revealing her pointed teeth. "Billy," she said fondly. She looked over at the boy, half hidden behind Black Hawk. "Is that really Machiavelli?" she whispered to the American.

Billy followed her gaze over to the Italian. He smiled. "Sure. Did you two know each other?" He called over to the Italian. "Hey Mac, come over here!"

Machiavelli came over somewhat reluctantly. "Miss Scathach," he acknowledged politely. He reached up and grasped Billy's hands. The American looked between the immortal and the vampire. "Have you met before?"

"Well, we just recently were on opposite sides in Paris. And he sent me to a shadow realm with Joan. But before that I sent him through a door," Scathach explained.

"It took forever to get all the splinters out," Machiavelli mumbled.

The Warrior knelt before the boy. "Still, I think we're probably even now, wouldn't you say?" she asked the Italian.

Machiavelli thought for a moment. "Yes, I think we might be." He smiled at her. He extended a hand out. "Truce?" he asked her.

"Truce." She shook his hand. Machiavelli moaned and touched his face, obstructing the sun's glare from his eyes. "Are you all right, kid?" The Italian shook his head and sneezed loudly. Scathach ended up with a slightly wet hand. She grimaced and muttered under her breath, "Sealed with a kiss, I see."

"Ohh," Machiavelli moaned. "Sorry," he told her, but as Billy handed her a patterned kerchief, the American could swear that there was a small smile on his face.

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"Come on, Mac," Billy said after dinner. "I think I'm going to put you in to soak."

Black Hawk whispered to Scathach, "I think that means he has to take a bath."

"Really?" she replied. "I thought he was going to try to get a tough stain out," she whispered back. Black Hawk laughed. The two immortals struggled to muffle their laughter. Machiavelli glanced over at them before focusing on the American.

Machiavelli leaned to the right. "What if I fall asleep in the water, Billy? What if I drown?" he asked sleepily. He dawdled by the window. Billy steered him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom.

"You're not going to drown," Billy told him patiently. They were at bathroom now. "The end of the tub's sloped. I'll lean you back." Billy began to fill the tub. He glanced behind at the boy, who was struggling out of his clothing. Falling back on his heels, he drew the Italian closer to him and helped pull the shirt over his head. The American lifted him into the tub and settled him in. "I'll be back in about ten minutes to pull you out, love." He ruffled the boy's hair.

"Okay," Machiavelli said faintly.

Billy looked at him for a moment, then padded down the stairs to join the other immortals who'd dispersed themselves onto the chairs on the front porch. He settled into place next to Black Hawk. The Native American immortal offered him a beer which Billy declined.

"You sure it's the best idea to leave him in the tub alone?" Black Hawk wanted to know, taking a swig of his own beer.

"I'll check on him soon. The water's not that deep," Billy defended himself. He looked around the group. "So what's everybody been doing?"

Perenelle sipped from her glass of wine. "Resting. Nicholas has been making the elixir again. And then we made contact with Scathach and the others when they came back to our time."

Scathach took up the story, explaining how the immortals had stayed at their cottage for a while before heading back to their respective homes. "Although, Palemedes and Shakespeare did mention stopping by the Germains before going home for good," she amended. "They're going to help them rebuild their house. We left it a mess last time we were over there. Machiavelli might have told you about that." Billy nodded sagely.

Nicholas spoke up last. "I've been looking into the Codex, specifically the part that concerns Machiavelli's condition." Nicholas finished.

Billy sat up straighter. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Nicholas nodded. He looked over at the American. "I can tell you about it. I'd like to talk to you about it first before I say anything to Machiavelli."

"Sure," Billy agreed. He checked his watch. "I'm going to pull the kid out of the tub now. Why don't you come up with me and after he's set we can talk?" Nicholas pulled himself up off the porch swing and followed the American back into the house.

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"Hey, old man, you're still awake." Billy smiled wide at the Italian. Nicholas followed the American into the bathroom. Leaning over the tub, Billy pulled the stopper out of the bathtub and let the water drain away. "I thought for sure you'd be conked out by now," he murmured, keeping a steady flow of conversation.

"Mmm," Machiavelli was fading fast. As the last of the water left the tub, Billy scooped him up and turned.

"Can you grab a towel?" Billy asked Nicholas, nodding in the direction of the closet. The Frenchman picked up a blue one off the top and followed Billy into the Italian's room. Billy accepted it with thanks, sitting Machiavelli in his lap as he toweled the boy off.

Nicholas slipped his fingers under the golden chain around Machiavelli's neck. His lips moved as he read the words on the pendant. The Italian looked at him defiantly, knowing that Nicholas would easily understand the words. But Nicholas let it fall from his hand, with the murmur that Billy had good taste. Billy grinned wide, pulling one of his long t-shirts over the boy's head. "I know," he acknowledged.

Machiavelli was now so tired that he seemed to go absolutely boneless. Billy hefted him into bed and pulled him down slightly so that he was comfortably in the bed. "See," Nicholas told him, watching the two interact. "You've only gotten better."

Billy smiled. "It's good of you to say that. But I have no clue what I'm doing half of the time." They looked down at Machiavelli's slumbering form. Billy's face grew serious. "You want to talk now?"


	22. Chapter 22

Convinced that Machiavelli was asleep for the night, Billy followed the older immortal down the stairs and into the front yard. Stopping by the group sitting in the front yard, the two indicated their intentions to take a walk.

Perenelle looked up at her husband. "All right," she agreed, catching her husband's hand. "Be careful you two." She looked over at Billy as she said this, but the American just nodded at her from his position in between Black Hawk and Scathach. The others watched as Billy and Nicholas set off down the road.

Billy maneuvered himself so that he was on the outside, closest to the road. "Mr. Flamel- Nick, is Machiavelli going to be okay?" he asked anxiously, looking sideways at the French immortal.

Nicholas looked quickly at Billy. "Of course," he said in his precise English. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. Niccolo is in no danger." Beside him, Billy visibly relaxed.

The two came to a fork in the road and Billy led them to the left, away from the lake and down the path that led to the playground. Nicholas paused at the gate, but Billy walked right through. Realizing he was alone, he looked back and retraced his steps. "It's fine. Past dark there's usually nobody here." He smiled. "Best place in the world to talk if you don't want to be heard." He led Nicholas to the swings, where the two sat beside each other.

"You seem happy," Nicholas commented. "Parenthood suits you well."

"I am happy," Billy said, swinging backwards a little. "I never thought I'd get a chance to be a father. It's nice even if it is temporary."

Nicholas looked over at the younger immortal. "I've known Machiavelli a long time. I think this is the happiest I have ever seen him." Keeping his gaze on the younger man, he carefully asked, "If you could, would you keep him a child forever? Keep things as they are now?"

Billy skidded to a stop. "I love Machiavelli," he admitted. "But like I told you before- I want him back as an adult. It's..." he trailed off and coughed, glancing at Nicholas. "Why are you asking this?" he queried softly.

Nicholas pulled the Codex out of a pouch tied around his neck. He perched a pince nez on his nose, and opened the book one of the first pages. Billy looked at him questioningly, but held up a lit ball of aura to help him read. The American shifted over to look at the page, but scanning the changing symbols, shrugged and drifted back. Nick hastened to explain. "I've been researching this while you were gone. This page describes the circumstances that led to Machiavelli's conditions." His fingers moved across the page and wisps of smoke came off the page. He hesitated, but continued. "I could stop Machiavelli from aging all the way back."

Billy nearly fell off of his swing. "What?" he squawked as surely as if Machiavelli had put the death grip on him. "What are you talking about?"

Nicholas closed the book carefully. "Abraham, the man who wrote the Codex, was a humanist," he explained. "He believed in the goodness of the humans, at a time when most of his peers believed that humans were weak and useless. Abraham wanted to reward the goodness of mankind so he engineered a spell that would stop the age regression process from reversing itself."

Billy was struggling to process the information before him. "I thought the immortality potion did that?"

"The immortality potion would be useless for him. He's already immortal. But the spell would freeze him at whatever age we cast the spell at.

"So, if Mac wanted to stay twenty for all time, he could?"

Nicholas nodded. "Essentially, yes. Like all spells in the Codex, it has to be renewed. In this case, every year, or Machiavelli will age back to where he started." He paused, giving Billy some time to absorb all the information coming at him. "Obviously, this is Machiavelli's decision. But knowing how close you two are, I did want to talk to you about it too- see how you felt about it."

Billy looked up at the stars. He cleared his throat, feeling overwhelmed. "I fell in love with Machiavelli, knowing he was a lot older than me," he said slowly. "I don't care what age he is, I'm always going to love him as much as I do at this moment. If he wants to be younger fine. If not, that's okay too." He stopped, embarrassed.

To his right, Nicholas smiled. "Good. Machiavelli is lucky to have you."

Billy ruffled his hair. "I've said too much," he mumbled. "I always do. But, umm, Nick? Let's not talk about this with Machiavelli until after he gets over his cold. I don't want to upset him or anything."

Nicholas nodded. Billy got up out of the swing and helped to pull the Frenchman to his feet. Nicholas looked at their feet. "You were right, this is a great place to discuss business. But we're lucky we're both wearing boots or we'd be shaking sand out of our shoes for days."

Billy chuckled. "I know. Come on now, we should head back. Else they might think we've been eaten by a bear."


	23. Chapter 23

AN: Feel free to leave reviews. I'm also curious to hear what you think the answers to the question at the end would be.

* * *

"Where'd Billy go?" Perenelle asked her husband the next morning. Light filtered in through the kitchen curtains.

Nicholas looked up from the book he was pouring over. "He mentioned bringing food to someone. I don't know where exactly he went, except that he went in the direction of the park we talked at last night."

Perenelle poured a cup of tea for herself and for her husband. "Did you tell him about the Codex?" she queried softly. Black Hawk and Scathach looked up too.

"I told him," Nicholas acknowledged. Sensing the question lingering in the room, he continued, "I think it went well. He said he'd stand behind whatever decision Machiavelli makes. He did ask that we don't tell Machiavelli about it until he's feeling better at least."

Scathach leaned back to look out the door. Certain that Billy's car hadn't pulled up, she leaned in closer and asked, "Do you think they're going to get married?"

Black Hawk looked out the window too. "I hope he does," he said, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "They're good for each other, kind of even each other out. I've never seen Billy this happy and -"

All the immortals fell silent at that moment though, hearing the crunch of gravel in the front yard which meant that the younger American immortal was back. Sure enough, Billy came in through the front door moments later. "Morning," he said happily to the group of immortals, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"So where'd you go?" Black Hawk asked him.

Billy settled down beside them. "I went to bring food to this kid Mac and I met. We don't think he eats enough and Mac has been away for a couple of days because of his cold, so I wanted to check on him." He took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face. He leaned over to grab the creamer. "I ended up bringing him out to breakfast."

"That was nice of you," Perenelle said, smiling. "Oh, Billy, we've all been wanting to ask you- what is Machiavelli like as a kid, now that you've spent some time with him?" Perenelle asked the American immortal curiously. "Is he very different from the adult Machiavelli?" The American opened his mouth to reply, but never got the chance.

"Billy!" Machiavelli tromped down the stairs. "I don't have any clean underwear," he informed the immortal.

Billy half covered his face with his hand. "Yes, Mac, I can see that. In fact, we can all see that." He got up and pulled a stack of clean clothes from the ironing board. "Here's your laundry," he told the Italian.

Machiavelli grabbed at the pile, dropping at least two shirts in the process. The rest of the stack he succesfully hung on to and he scurried back upstairs, calling out "Bye!" to the other immortals in the room.

Billy sat down again beside Perenelle. "Yes, Mrs. Flamel," he said mildly, "Mac is slightly more open as a child."

"I'd wager so," Scathach called out. From her position, the American guessed that she had seen quite the eyefull. He smiled sheepishly at the entire room.

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"So, how do we play this?" Scathach flipped over the box to the game.

"One person asks a question and everybody else writes down their answer and passes it to the questioner's right," Nicholas read from the instruction manual. "That person reads them out loud and the questioner has to guess which person said what. Each person they guess right is one space they can move forward on the board."

"Cards Against Humanity sounded more interesting," Black Hawk mumbled from his place by the fire.

"Loaded Questions is a good way to get to know others," Nicholas said. "And let's face it, we're kind of a mixed bunch of people."

"Anyways, Cards Against Humanity isn't age appropriate," Billy called from the kitchen, indicating Machiavelli.

"I'm older than you are!" Machiavelli protested. Billy patted him on the head as he passed him. The Italian coughed loudly into the crook of his arm. "Can I go first?" he asked, looking around the room. Nobody protested so he picked up the first card and read out, "What would be a terrible place to find yourself tomorrow?"

Five pencils scratched, then their papers were handed to Black Hawk. He glanced at the papers and said, "Okay, four people answered 'Alcatraz' and one person put downtown Los Angelos."

Machiavelli cocked his head. "I'm going to guess Scathach said Los Angelos and everybody else said, well, you know..."

Black Hawk passed back all the answer sheets. "Good job, kid, they're all right. So I guess you move forward five spaces," he told the boy.

Perenelle asked the next question, "What is your favorite kind of candy?" This question got a more varied answer set, with the answers varying from pepermint drops to panforte. Perenelle got three of the answers right, knowing that Nicholas loved peppermint drops and Scathach always ate Almond Joys, and guessing correctly that Machiavelli liked panforte.

"I was horehound candy," Billy told her taking back his answer sheet. "Black Hawk is the one who's always sucking on maple candy."

"I'm next," Scathach interrupted, grabbing the next card. "What is the worst clothing you could wear?" She looked around the room. "If I could have answered this one, I would have said anything from the 80's. Those were some dark times. Go ahead and read," she told Nicholas, who'd collected the answers.

"Was that directed at me?" Billy asked afterwards, when Machiavelli identified his answer as 'jeans and a t-shirt'. Machiavelli smiled up at him innocently and motioned at Nicholas to read out the next question.

Nicholas frowned at the question in front of him, but read out clearly, "If you were a professional wrestler, what would be your ring name?"

Billy nudged the Italian. "How about Mac-a-Whack?"


	24. Chapter 24

Billy frowned a little. "Are you sure you're okay watching him, cause if you aren't I could just stay here and..."

Perenelle motioned him out the door. "Go," she commanded firmly. "Nicholas and I are not going to kill Machiavelli while you're gone. You need the time off." She pushed him away from the cabin.

"I'm beginning to think that you don't want to spend time with us," Black Hawk called from the Jeep where he and Scathach already sat. "Come on, we'll be back in a couple of hours."

Billy looked helplessly back at the cabin, but trudged over to the Jeep. "Of course, I want to spend time with you," he told his friends, climbing into the back of the vehicle. "But remember," he called to Perenelle, "he needs to be fed clear liquids, nothing heavy, and give him his cough medicine at eleven. I think that..." Black Hawk peeled out. The Flamels waved from the front yard of the cabin.

Black Hawk looked back at his young American friend through the rear view window. "Billy, you're becoming one of those mothers who only know how to do things with their kids. Get a grip," he drawled.

"I am not!" Billy protested, grabbing at the frame of the car as Black Hawk flew over a particularly nasty dip. He whooped happily as the backseat bumped upwards and he was temporarily held in mid air.

"What are we doing today anyways?" Scathach broke in, also white knuckling the frame.

Black Hawk began to whistle. "I have a buddy who owns a racing track about an hour from here," he said happily. "He's agreed to let us use it for the day."

"Oh, good," Scathach mumbled. "Soon we'll be in a fast car."

"What was that?"

"She said it's seems a bit far," Billy covered for her from the backseat. "I could've driven," he added under his breath.

"I've got to be honest with you, Bill. I don't like your Thunderbird." Billy shifted as if he had been hit. "Now if you had gotten a Mustang..." the Native American teased.

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As it turned out, Scathach outraced both the American immortals when they finally got there. The moment they had gotten there, she had claimed the black racing car, easily winning race after race. Even when the two Americans stopped to break for lunch, she continued wheeling around the track. Black Hawk didn't seem to mind, grinning happily as he watched her careen around the corners, finally screeching to a halt. The Shadow sauntered over to where the two men stood.

"Having fun?" she called to the two men.

"Having a great time," Black Hawk called back. The two immortals helped her over the barrier and into the stands. "I was thinking, Billy, we should bring Machiavelli back here when he's older. He needs to have fun."

"And I can teach him sword fighting," Scathach added, dropping into one of the stadium seats. "It's seems like the kind of thing he might like."

Billy leaned back against the railing and grinned. "Look at the two of you. Just this morning you were giving me trouble for talking about the kid too much."

Black Hawk had to laugh. "Fine. So we all talk about him. I think he needs to do something that thrills him. I've thought that since before all of this happens."

Billy settled down on the ground in front of them. He tipped back his hat. "I think so too," he admitted freely. "I was thinking of taking him paint balling when he's a little bit older. I want to pack all the fun I can into him before he gets older again and things go back to the way they were."

The grin faded from Black Hawk's expression. "You think he's going to take off when he's an adult again?"

Billy cocked his head to the side, then nodded. "See, he's got these little kid emotions in him right now which take over sometimes, and I think that's why he doesn't mind spending so much time with me. But I think that once he's an adult again and he's got his mind back where it should be, he won't want to be with me so much." He looked away, and leaned back to grab Scathach a soda from their cooler.

"Thanks," Scathach toasted him. She was quieter, both of them were, wishing Billy hadn't said what he had, wishing he didn't believe the things he did. "Billy," she tried carefully. "I think you underestimate Machiavelli. I think you bring a lot to him that he needs."

The outlaw scratched the side of his face, rubbing his stubble. "I'm not smart like Machiavelli is. I barely spent any time in school and when I did go, I always got in trouble. I still get in trouble wherever I go. I can't imagine Machiavelli ever loving a man like me." Billy noticed their melancholy air. "Aw, hell," he said. He jumped to his feet and did a flip over the bar. "Let's have one more race before we go home," he yelled. "Bet I beat you!"

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"I think it's kind of sad," Scathach whispered to Black Hawk as they followed Billy up the driveway to the cabin. "He thinks Machiavelli only needs him now while he's stuck in the kid's body."

"We'll have to work on it," Black Hawk murmured back. He let her in through the doorway first. The two smiled to see Billy capturing the Italian in a hug.

Scathach stepped beside Nicholas. "Have fun today?" she asked, grinning at him.

Nicholas rested an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick kiss on the temple. "It wasn't a very eventful day," he explained. "Machiavelli slept a lot, but he got up this afternoon and made raspberry brûlée with Perenelle. Those two get along surprisingly well."

Scathach looked over at the Machiavelli to see that he had led Billy back to Black Hawk. Her keen hearing picked up traces of their conversation, telling her that Black Hawk and Billy were busy recounting (and stretching) their stories about their day. "Is the raspberry dish the reason why Machiavelli is purple?" she asked the Frenchman.

"Ah." Nicholas suddenly looked uncomfortable. "No, that wasn't it at all."

"Then why-?"

Nicholas steered her towards Perenelle. "I don't wish to talk about it," was all he said.


	25. Chapter 25

"Where do you go in the mornings?" Machiavelli asked Billy curiously.

Billy opened the fridge and pulled out the carton of eggs. "I went to the park to make sure John's eating."

"That's good." Machiavelli quirked his eyebrows. "Does he wonder where I've been? I hope he doesn't think I abandoned him, especially after he told me that thing you heard..."

Billy shook his head from his place over at the stove. "I told him that you've been sick." He scratched at his neck. "I talked to him for a bit this morning. Told him my dad left me when I was young too. I think he'll turn out all right in the end."

"This is the young man you were talking about the other night at dinner?" Perenelle asked. "I hope things get better for him. Maybe we can help him." She looked over at her husband, who nodded subtly. The Frenchwoman then looked over at Machiavelli with a critical eye. "I thought he was getting better last night, but now it seems like his cold has come back again."

"He'd better get well soon," Billy said sitting down to breakfast. He pointed at the Italian. "You've noticed that he's gotten bigger again? Soon we won't have any clothes left for him."

"How old is he now?" Black Hawk asked over Machiavelli's head.

"About eight," Billy said absentmindedly stroking the Italian's wavy locks. "I suppose you're too sick for another party," he told the boy. Machiavelli didn't say anything, but sipped his tea. "Mac?"

"Oh were you talking to me?" Machiavelli quipped rather snarkily. "I thought perhaps you were going to spend the whole day, talking over my head."

Black Hawk laughed and apologized. "You were full of fire at this age, weren't you? How'd you become that careful old man that I met a couple of months ago?"

"Got burned too many times," the Italian replied. He turned back to look at the American. "And who say's I'm too sick for a party? I feel a hundred percent!" He held up his arms. Billy reached over and pinched his nose shut for the briefest of moments. Machiavelli instantly went into a coughing fit.

"If this is one hundred percent, I hate to see you when you feel crummy," Billy drawled, going back to his coffee. "But if you want a party, I think the others want to give you one. Black Hawk got you something the other day in town, I think you'll like."

"A suit?" Machiavelli exclaimed happily.

"Ah, no."

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"You got an eight year old boy a cappuccino machine?" Scathach wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "What are you mad?"

Black Hawk defended himself. "This isn't just any coffee machine. It's a La Pavoni Europiccola, more specifically, the exact machine that James Bond uses in 'Live and Let Die'.

"And if Machiavelli turns out to not be a Bond man?"

Black Hawk looked up at her. "The man loves cars, expensive suits, and sunglasses. If he isn't a Bond fan, I'll eat my hat."

"You're not wearing a hat," Billy said, passing the two. Scathach nodded and pointed at the American, sharing his sentiment.

"Where's the kid?" Black Hawk asked. "With the Flamels?"

Billy shook his head. "The Flamels are downtown getting some stuff for the party. And Mac I put down for a nap. He didn't like it too much, but I told him if he was going to have a party, he was going to have to rest beforehand."

"So what'd you get him that's so great anyways?" Black Hawk asked Scathach with interest.

Scathach pulled out a huge bag from the closet. She smiled. "Every Harry Potter legos set I could find. I thought he might get a kick out of it." Billy laughed.

"He'll like that," he told her. "He's a smart kid."

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"You know you guys didn't have to buy me presents," Machiavelli told them as he unwrapped the final gift, Billy's present. "I just wanted to eat cake again." The Italian looked at the box that he had just unwrapped like it was a bomb about to go off. "Is this real?" he asked, poking at the side of the box that read 'Family Blankeez: The Snuggie for the Whole Family'.

Billy sighed happily. "I nearly shit myself when I saw this in the store," he confessed without any trace of shame.

Machiavelli opened the box and heaved a sigh of relief when he didn't find an eighteen foot wide snuggie in it. "Spoof box," he mumbled pulling out the contents of the box. "A chess set," he said softly, smiling as he looked at the intricately designed pieces. "Chess of the mad queen," he mumbled to himself, his fingers turning over the pewter pieces.

Nicholas settled back on the couch. "We've found his favorite," he said smiling.

"I like all of my gifts," Machiavelli said diplomatically. He looked up at Billy. "Could I make my cappuccino now?" he asked hopefully.

"No." Billy shook his head. "You've already had three pieces of cake. I'm surprised you haven't blown bits all over-"

Machiavelli held up his hand. "Please. 'No' will suffice next time."


	26. Chapter 26

"You think giving him another piece of cake will help him?" Billy chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, his forehead crinkled.

Black Hawk shrugged. "He hasn't had a piece since yesterday, what can it hurt?"

"I don't know," Billy hedged. "You want another piece, partner?" Machiavelli nodded hopefully, his eyes imploring. "All right, cut him a little piece," he told the Native American. He went back to working on the lunch dishes.

Black Hawk gave him a good sized chunk anyways. Machiavelli squeezed his hand with thanks and took his piece out onto the porch where he sat in between Scathach and Perenelle.

"He's a ladies man," Nicholas observed from the kitchen table.

Billy smiled from his place at the sink. "He's a good kid. I wished he'd get better though. It seems like he should be better by now though, shouldn't he?"

"Well I don't know Billy," Black Hawk said sarcastically. "You said he got sick the day before we got here. That was five days ago. What do you think?"

"Okay, okay, so I'm a worrier," Billy admitted and pulled the plug out of the sink, letting the dirty water swirl out of sight. Black Hawk clapped him on the shoulder and grabbed his fishing rod, heading for the lake. Billy and Nicholas watched him salute the ladies and Machiavelli as he headed out.

"I was thinking of doing some laundry soon, you want anything put in?" Billy asked Nicholas. The older man shook his head and motioned the American over. Billy came over and settled next to him, grabbing his book.

"What are you reading now?" Nicholas said with some interest. "You finished that Machiavelli biography."

"Days ago," Billy grinned. "But sometimes I open it up anyways cause it bothers Mac. Anyway, right now I'm reading Die Weiße Rose."

"Ah, verstehen sie Deutsch?

"Nur ein bischen," Billy replied. He looked over at the Frenchman. "Do you think I'm being foolish, worrying about Machiavelli so much?"

Nicholas shook his head, patting the American on the shoulder. "Knowing how you lost your children, it makes sense that you would worry with Machiavelli sick. Diphtheria is a terrible illness. But Niccolo only has a common cold. It's nothing to worry about."

Billy looked up. "Oh, I know he's not seriously ill, but I just want him to feel better. Kids seem to stay sick forever." The two men settled back into their respective books.

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"Billy!" Scathach called from the door. She came in, pushing the Italian in front of her. "Your kid's looking sick."

"Sick, he just had a piece of cake," Billy questioned, pulling Machiavelli towards him. He felt the boy's face. "Are you going to puke? You only had one piece," he told the Italian as if by sheer force of will he could keep Machiavelli from being sick.

Scathach leaned against the counter. "When he started looking ill, Perenelle and I began to question him. Turns out he had the piece you gave him, the two he ate yesterday, and another one this morning before any of us got up."

"Oh, no," Billy groaned. "Are you going to puke?" Billy asked the Italian. Machiavelli was now looking distinctly green.

"Why would I puke?" Machiavelli replied weakly.

"Cause you've had at least half a cake in the past 24 hours?" Scathach supplied helpfully.

Machiavelli gave him a dirty look. "My stomach's just fine. I got through that whole experience on Alkatraz without puking, didn't I?

Billy nodded. He pointed at the Italian. "The kid's got a point, I mean, that was disgusting. Why when we had to listen to Hel eating that raw, bloody pig and things were snapping and squishing and that wet thing dropped on the ground, I thought for sure I was going to puke." He patted Machiavelli on the back. "But Mac here stood tall, even when we were sloshing through- hey, Mac, are you okay-?"

Scathach backed away from the boy. Machiavelli was looking sicker than ever. The Warrior gestured towards him, asking, "Is he going to...?"

Billy nodded, diving to grab the trash bin in time. He pulled it back to the Italian just as the boy lost the majority of his lunch and the four pieces of cake. Unfortunately, the bin wasn't much help, as most of the sick got on Billy and not into the bin.

Machiavelli's eyes were large. He stammered, "I'm sorry, Billy."

Billy looked down at the pool of sick on his shirt. He carefully sponged what he could off before he began to dab at the Machiavelli's face. "S'okay, Mac," he told the boy, wringing the sponge out so that he could clean up the Italian.

Scathach tried to placate the boy before he got too upset. "It's okay buddy, I think at least half of it got in the bin.

"Or at least a quarter," Billy said, looking into the bin.

Machiavelli felt terribly upset by that point. "None of it got in the bin, it all got on Billy," he wailed.

Billy peeled off his shirt and flung it into the sink. "Look," he said, "now none of it's on Billy. It's okay honey! It's okay," he repeated. "Don't cry, Mac, I've been puked on by worse people than you," he soothed.

"That's true," Scathach agreed. "None of the people who puked on him in the past were as cute as you."

Billy looked at her with his eyebrows raised. Scathach shrugged back at him. Billy grabbed his shirt out of the sink and put it in the washer. "Go take a shower, Mac. You'll feel better when you're clean again." Machiavelli nodded weakly and trudged towards the stairs. They soon heard the water running above them.

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Billy helped the Italian into bed that night. "You know Mac, I read a portion of that book the other day that said you once threw up over an ugly prostitute. You're not trying to tell me something are you?" Billy asked cheerfully.

Machiavelli pouted. "No," he said defensively, "and I don't want to talk about that right now. Just thinking about that woman makes me...ah-"

"Okay," Billy said quickly. "Let's not do anything to make you spew more." He pulled a book off of the nightstand. "Want me to read a new book to you?"

Machiavelli scooched backwards on the bed. "What are you going to read?" he asked curiously.

Billy pushed him over slightly. "It's called Snicker of Magic. You'll like it," he said happily. "Of course, it's a different kind of magic from what we've got, but I like it just the same."

Machiavelli leaned in, letting Billy's voice wash over him. He wanted to concentrate on the main character Felicity but found his mind wandering, noticing how Billy smelled like spices and aftershave, how his hands were smaller than his wrists, almost delicate...


	27. Chapter 27

"So you actually feel better now that you threw up?" Scathach asked the Italian skeptically. She shook her head. Machiavelli heard her mumble under her breath, "humans."

Machiavelli grinned up at her and leaned into her side. "I was mostly all right the other day. I just..." he trailed off.

"Ate too much cake," the Warrior supplied. She handed the Italian another lego like the one he had in his left hand. "Here, you need this if you're going to make the divination tower."

"Thanks," Machiavelli said distractedly. "Where's the turret?"

Perenelle scooped a piece off of the floor. "Is it this?" she asked handing it to him. Machiavelli nodded and grabbed it happily.

"Where'd the rest of the guys go?" he asked the room at large, still concentrating on putting together his castle.

"They're down by the lake fishing," Scathach replied, wrinkling her nose distastefully. "They said you could go down and join them if you want, once you got up, so if you want to go that's fine. But I'll stay here. I don't like fish and fishing is boring, so..." she trailed off.

"I'll stay here too," Machiavelli chimed in, surprising the two women. He looked up at them and caught the tail end of their confusion. "I don't like fishing either."

"We're just a little surprised because we thought the two of you were attached at the hip," Scathach told him, poking him in the side. Machiavelli blushed faintly, determinedly fitting together the pieces. Perenelle shot a look to the Shadow and smoothed out the hair on the top of his head.

"What Scathach means is that we've noticed the two of you are very close. So we were expecting you'd rather go out and be with him than be shut in this cabin with the two of us," Perenelle explained demurely. "Especially since the forecast calls for rain the rest of the week."

"It's going to rain all week?" Machiavelli gave them his full attention now. "Then we won't be able to see John for another couple of days..." he trailed off. "I'm going to go see Billy."

"Okay," Scathach helped him up.

Machiavelli let the screen door slam shut behind him. He leaped over the front steps and took off at a run towards the docks where he could now see Billy, Black Hawk, and Nicholas sitting with fishing lines dropped into the water. He ran down the length of the dock and came to a halt by the American, skidding into the man.

Billy slung an arm around Machiavelli's thin shoulders. "Hey sweetheart, we've been waiting for you." He smiled brilliantly.

'His eyes look just like the water,' Machiavelli noticed, getting distracted. He shook his head, telling himself to focus. "It's going to rain the rest of the week?" he asked, leaning against Billy.

Billy's eyes darkened slightly. "Ah, you heard about that? Yeah, it looks like we'll be stuck in the cabin together for couple of days. Too bad too since you just got better..." They both watched as Black Hawk pulled his line in, the string taunt and jerking. Moments later, the Native American had a rainbow trout about the size of his forearm. Machiavelli turned his nose slightly, a movement that Billy caught. "Don't like fish, huh?" he asked, pitching his voice low so that only the Italian and him could here. Machiavelli shook his head.

"Can't we go see if John's at the playground?" Machiavelli asked, dropping all pretenses. He attempted to look as cute as possible.

"Sure," Billy agreed.

Machiavelli huffed. "Well sometimes I don't know what to do with you," he said.

Billy looked surprised. "What'd I do? I agreed with you!"

"Exactly! I put all of this effort into looking cute, and you just agree like nothing." Machiavelli gestured to himself. "I'm working hard for nothing. I ought to-" Billy hugged him tight, cutting him off.

Billy released him and wound in his line. "We can go now, if you want. You guys staying here?" Black Hawk and Nicholas acceded. "Okay, then it's just you and me, Mac. Unless maybe we can get one of the girls to go with us..."

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As it turned out, both the female immortals accompanied the American and the Italian on their trip. Though Perenelle claimed she wanted to catch some sun and Scathach complained of boredom, Machiavelli suspected they wanted to observe him in action.

Scathach turned out to be a lot of fun to Machiavelli's surprise, who still harbored some resentment over the whole door incident. After Machiavelli looked around for the pale boy with the sad eyes and didn't find him, he agreed to play with Scathach. The Warrior was particularly happy to find a set of gymnastic bars and he watched her with some amazement when she flipped over entirely and turned in midair. She only stopped her antics when she saw Perenelle drag her thumb across her throat, jerking her head at the open-mouthed parents.

"Ah, maybe you can show me the drawbridge," she told Machiavelli who agreed without question, having seen the disbelief forming on the face of one mother in particular. He shook his head slightly as they climbed onto the wooden bridge.

Machiavelli was caught by surprise when she jumped on her end of the bridge. His end bounced up and he came back down with a jolt. His face broke into a happy smile and he began to jump up and down with her. "I love you!" he hollered happily before dashing away to slide down the fireman's pole. Scathach was left standing rather dumbfounded on the bridge.

Billy leaned onto the side of the bridge, tugging on Scathach's ankle. "Kids," he called to her, "they get you every time." He walked over to where the Italian had dropped down the pole. "You're friend's here Mac. I told him I'd push both of you on the merry-go-round today. Scathach too, if we can pry her off the bridge."

"Okay," Machiavelli took off like a shot. He grabbed Scathach's hand, dragging her with him. "Come with me. I want you to meet John."

"Where's Perenelle?" Scathach called over her shoulder to the American. He pointed to where the Frenchwoman was already pushing a skinny kid around on a tricolored merry-go-round. She pulled it to a stop and let the Italian climb on.

Stepping into place, Billy asked the Shadow if she wanted to climb on, to which she rolled her eyes. "Anybody else getting on," he called out cheerfully. A little girl with pigtails timidly asked if she could get on too and he smiled gently at her and helped her up. Making sure the three kids were on securely, he began to spin the ride, letting it gain momentum. The pig-tailed girl squealed with happiness. "Tell me when to stop it," he said, letting it spin on its own volition mostly now.

Billy stepped back a bit so he could talk to the ladies. Occasionally he would reach forward and give the merry-go-round an extra spin. When the little girl called to him, he pulled it to a stop and gave her his hand. She looked up at him with starry eyes, like he was akin to the gods. "She's cute," he commented to the ladies as he settled with them on the park bench.

Perenelle laughed, her voice tinkling like small bells. "She is," she agreed.

Scathach tutted slightly. "I can't even remember being that young," she said, a peculiar edge to her voice. "Where are the boys going?" she asked, looking after them as they ran around.

"Exploring," Billy explained, leaning against Perenelle slightly. "I think Mac worries about that kid. I wasn't originally planning on staying here as long as we have been." They all watched as the skinny boy whispered something in Machiavelli's ear. The Italian immortal listened carefully before cupping his hand to the boy's ear and whispering something back."

"Wonder what they're talking about?" Perenelle mused.

Billy shook his head. "I don't want to know," he said honestly. "By the way, we're probably going to have some company tonight," he told the others. "I told Mac that he should invite him over for a sleepover. Give the boy's mother some rest. Apparently, she's always working."

Perenelle scrutinized the American. "You're going to try to save that family, aren't you?"

"Of course." Billy beamed at her.


	28. Chapter 28

"Where'd your dad go?" John asked Machiavelli, dangling his feet between the railing slats. They looked at the immortals gathered in the living room.

"He's out getting some more food," Machiavelli answered. "We're going through food a lot faster now that our family's come up to visit."

"Are you sure it's okay for me to be here with your family visiting like this?" John asked nervously.

Machiavelli sensed the unease in the young boy. "Of course it's okay," he reassured the boy. "I've missed you these past few days. Besides they're going to be here a while." He watched the boy visibly relax. He turned back to look at the immortals, but secretly watched John from the corner of his eye. Already, John looked like he was filling out slightly, the extra food they'd been giving him finally adding some weight to his frame. "Is it just you and your mom?" he asked suddenly.

John looked up in surprise. "My father took my older brother with him when he left. But he left me behind." There was a sad color in his tone.

"Don't you miss your brother?" Machiavelli still missed all four of his siblings, even now, many years after they had died.

John nodded. "I do, but I'm glad I was left here with my mom or I think she'd be lonely."

Machiavelli felt uncomfortable with the conversation's track. "Want to see my model car?" he asked, getting to his feet. "It's a copy of Billy's car," he explained. John followed him into the small bedroom in the back that he called his own.

John looked with interest at the airplane hanging from the ceiling and the Lego models that lay half finished on the desk. "This is a great room," he admired, spinning around. Machiavelli pulled his car out.

"I've in a lot of places," he admitted. "But I like this one best. Billy's been very good to me." They heard the door open and close downstairs. Machiavelli looked over the railing and whooped, seeing the American pulling in bags. "Billy!" he hollered. "You're back!"

Billy scooped him up and swung him round and round the room. Even after he let the boy's feet touch the ground, he twirled the Italian in merry circles. Machiavelli giggled uncontrollably.

Black Hawk smiled, watching the two immortals, his teeth shining bright white against his darker skin. "Don't make him puke," he warned the other American.

Billy stopped twirling the Italian, but held him close. "I'm just awfully glad you're feeling better, Mac. I don't like to see you sick." He let go of Machiavelli and caught the wistful expression on John's face. He bowed low in front of the little boy and held out his hand. "Want to dance?"

John laughed, but refused. "Boys can't dance with each other," he whispered to Billy.

"Oh well," Billy looked around the room. "We've got more men than women in this house, so we kind of got used to it," he laughed. He pointed to Scathach. "If you're really against dancing with me, see if you can get her to kick up her heels."

Scathach smacked the American lightly. "Don't tease him," she muttered in his ear. "The boy looks completely scared of me."

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"You're sure you're comfortable?" Billy asked John, toeing the sleeping bag a bit. "Scathach said she'd switch with you two if you want the couch."

"I'm okay," John said happily. Billy had thrown another blanket over both boys, ensuring that none of the cold from the storm got to them. Outside of their cabin, the rain was coming down in sheets, the wind whipping it against the window. "Billy?" The American turned around in the doorway. "Why do you call her Scathach? What kind of name is that?"

Billy had to think about that one. "We call her that cause Scathach was an ancient warrior from Scotland and our girl's a scrapper too, so we gave her the nickname." He turned out the light. "Hey listen boys, I don't mind you staying up, but try to keep it down. Nick and Perenelle are on the other side of that wall." He jerked his finger at the south side wall. "Goodnight. Sleep tight." He pulled the door shut behind him.

John waited until the door shut before he sat up. He looked over at Machiavelli. "Nick, what do you want to do?"

Machiavelli turned over on his side to look at the younger boy. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never had a sleepover before. What'd you have in mind?"

John looked excited, a rare emotion on his face. "Can we make a fort?" Machiavelli hadn't considered the idea before; now he nodded eagerly and began pulling the blankets from the bed. John looked thoughtfully around the room, then grabbed the desk chair and pulled it over. "After we're done we can read scary stories," he whispered excitedly.

Machiavelli tumbled to his feet. "Okay," he said, following the younger boy's lead. For once, the pale boy's face was shining brightly. Machiavelli didn't want to do anything to louse it up.


	29. Chapter 29

The rain continued throughout the night and on into the morning.

"Do you think it's weird for me to hang out with John?" Machiavelli asked as they drove back to the cabin after dropping off the skinny boy the next morning.

Billy shrugged. "I don't know, Mac, the kid needs a friend. And I think it's good for you to have someone in your life that isn't immortal and isn't tangled up with that mes we dealt with last month." He turned into their driveway. "If you think it'll help, perhaps you should explain to him what's really going on."

"You really think he'd believe it if I told him the truth?" the Italian questioned incredulously.

"No." Billy chuckled at the expression on his face. He shrugged and pulled Machiavelli out through the driver's side door so that they both had complete benefit of the umbrella. "He might not believe you at first," he admitted, "but he's bound to notice you getting bigger every week."

Machiavelli stopped and Billy came back to him. "I didn't even think about that," the Italian whispered, thinking hard. He pulled open the door.

"Well we don't have to figure everything out right now," Billy told the European immortal. The other immortals looked up at that, but the American shook his head subtly and they all went back to their individual activities. Machiavelli picked up on this and glanced suspiciously back at Billy, but the young man just shook his head and mumbled, "not now."

Machiavelli squinted at him, but decided not to address the issue until Billy was ready. He helped the American set up the chessboard in between them. "Billy? How long are we planning on staying here?"

"I actually hadn't planned on staying here this long, but we're having fun here and I want to work out the thing with John before we go anywhere else." Billy opened by moving his king's pawn and Machiavelli countered with the Sicilian defense manuever that he had come to love over the years.

"What do you think we should do, Nicholas?" Machiavelli asked the Frenchman. "Billy thinks we should tell John who we really are. Isn't that dangerous?"

"No, it's absurd," Billy broke in.

"I'm not sure I understand you," Machiavelli told Billy.

Nicholas smiled blithely at the American. "I think what Billy is saying is that we stand no real harm because it's so strange that nobody would believe him if he tried to spill our secrets."

Billy cut in. "But if he does believe us, we have a chance to really help him. And I want to help him." He captured the Italian's knight, but lost his rook to the Italian's next move. "Listen, Mac, I understand you more than you think. You feel bad because John is missing his father and you're thinking about how you were never around when your kids were growing up. But they're not necessarily the same thing." He castled.

Machiavelli accidentally knocked down the rook he was reaching for. "How could you possibly know that?" He trapped Billy's queen in the upper corner of the field.

The American skillfully out manipulated Machiavelli's tactics. He sighed. "I've been on both sides of it before. My father left long before I could remember him and then I was never around for my girls." Billy's smile was soft and sad. "I understand both sides now."

Machiavelli didn't know what to say. "Check." He was closing on Billy's king with his two rooks. He looked over at Nicholas for help. "What are you reading?" he asked him.

"Cancer Ward, by Solzhenitsyn." Nicholas's gray eyes sparkled. "I've gone into semi-retirement for a little while, after all the running around we did last month. So now I have plenty of time to reread some of my favorites."

"I enjoy Solzhenitsyn, but I like Matrayona's House better because- what do you mean, checkmate?" He looked over at the grinning American.

"I mean, I won," Billy said happily. He got up. "Listen, I'm going to make lunch and then you and I are going to have to go shopping. You're growing out of your clothes."

"Okay." Machiavelli got up out of his seat and climbed onto the arm of the Perenelle's chair. "Will you read to me?"" he asked her curiously.

Perenelle looked a bit surprised. "You want me to read to you?" she repeated back to him, making sure she had heard right.

Machiavelli nodded, grabbed his book, and tumbled in next to her on the love seat. "Billy and I read the first chapter the other night. Felicity and her family just moved to Midnight Gulch, Tennessee and she found out that there might still be magic there..."


	30. Chapter 30

"Why is it that the closest mall is still an hour away?" Scathach complained from the passenger seat.

Billy glanced over at her from the driver's seat. "It's Montana. We're lucky to have a mall at all."

Machiavelli piped up from the backseat. "Why do we have to go to a mall anyways? They have clothing stores in town."

Billy had to raise his voice slightly so that he could be heard over the rain pounding on the top of the car. "It would look suspicious if we went into town and bought a bunch of clothes for a nine year old, a ten year old, and an eleven year old when supposedly I only have a seven year old."

"Well that's true," Machiavelli mumbled. He turned to the Warrior Maid. "Why are you coming? You didn't outgrow your clothes." He was genuinely curious. Scathach didn't seem like the mall type of person.

Scathach turned around in her seat so that she could see both the immortals at the same time. "I've spent the last hundred years living in a city. Much as I like your little cabin, I'll go mad if I'm stuck in there for days on end."

Machiavelli leaned onto the front seat so that he was closer to the adults. "I like the cabin cause there's always somebody around. I don't have to be alone anymore." There was a faint touch of pink in his face.

Billy reached his hand back blindly, keeping his eyes on the road. He found the Italian's head and patted it softly. "I'll never let you be alone again, Mac,. You're stuck with me now and forever."

"Me too," Scathach said, looking back out the window. "What's up with the radio anyways?" she asked, changing the topic. "When we went to Las Vegas that time I spent half of the trip listening to him," she jerked her head at the American, "singing along with the Broadway musicals."

Billy nodded happily. "I love RENT. Anyways, the radio's all static right now what with the storm.

"Ah," Scathach acknowledged.

"Of course, we could sing ourselves. I could be Dr. Horrible, you could be Penny, and the kid's Captain Hammer."

"I can't do that," Machiavelli protested. "I don't even know the lyrics."

At the same time he was protesting, Scathach said, "yeah, let's do that."

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Scathach and Machiavelli followed the American into the boys' department of the store. "Okay, here's how I shop," he told Scathach. He held up a pair of purple shorts. "This pair of shorts is the next size up for him. Get that size and the next two sizes up. If all else fails, just get what seems bigger than he is."

"How many do you want of each size?" Scathach asked, thumbing through the hangers.

"Two or three. I do laundry fairly regularly."

"Jeans?"

Billy paused, thinking about it. "It's going to start getting cooler in about three weeks. So maybe a couple of pairs in sizes 12, 14, and 16." He kissed her on the cheek. "Have fun with it. He's paying for it." He jerked his hand at the little boy, dumping boxer shorts in the cart.

"Can we get a bathing suit?" Machiavelli wasn't paying any attention to the adults' conversations. "For the next time we go rafting?"

"Sure," Billy said absentmindedly and the Italian grabbed a red and purple swimsuit. He trotted after Billy as the American walked over to the t-shirt display. "Like the Beatles?" Billy asked, holding up a couple of shirts. Machiavelli accepted or denied the t-shirts as he held them up. In particular, he enjoyed the shirt that had an imprint of a tie and suspenders on it.

Scathach joined them a minute later. "I'm all done over there. I even got the kid some socks. He forgot them."

"Okay, well that's all we need for you," Billy told the Italian. He looked over at Scathach. "I need to get some clothes for me. Anything you need here?"

Scathach shook her head. "I don't need anything. How about Mac and I head off and you can catch up with us after you're done." She grabbed the Italian's hand and led him off, Machiavelli skipping slightly to keep up with her.

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It took some searching, but Billy finally found the two in the pet store. He pointed to the box that Scathach was hanging on to. "What'd you get?" he asked her.

The Warrior led him away from where Machiavelli was playing with a Husky puppy. "We want it to be a surprise. You'll find out afterwards."

Billy didn't protest. "Okay," he said, watching as Machiavelli tugged at the other end of the chew toy the puppy was hanging on to. "We'd better be careful, or he's going to want that puppy," he whispered to her.

"You'd better get him out of here then, cause it's a proven fact that I have no resistance to him," Scathach mumbled back.

"What do you mean?"

Scathach looked over at him. "Promise to keep a secret?" Billy nodded. She glanced over at the boy, then whispered, "I bought him a suit."

"And he doesn't know you did?" Billy said surprised.

The Shadow punched him on the shoulder. "Of course he knows I bought it for him. He begged me." She pushed back at her hair. "He looks cute in it. Even I'll admit it."

"Why'd he want a suit?" Billy wondered. He caught the look that Scathach directed his way. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

Scathach smiled at Billy, her pointed teeth showing. "He wants to take you out on a date sometime. Of course, he didn't call it a date so much as a 'private dinner together so that he can wear his suit'."

"Well, I'll act surprised," Billy told her. "Come on, let's get him before he falls in love with that puppy."


	31. Chapter 31

The next night, Machiavelli and Billy decided to drive into town to get dinner.

"Where are Scathach and Black Hawk?" Machiavelli asked, fiddling with the car radio. He found an opera station and left it on, turning it down so they could talk.

"What makes you think I know?" Billy asked, carefully avoiding the other immortal's eyes.

The Italian looked at him suspiciously, but carried on the conversation. "Anyways, this is the first time I've ever seen you wear anything besides jeans and a t-shirt," Machiavelli said looking over at the American. "Actually, it's the first time I've seen you with your shirt tucked in either."

Billy flashed a smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm still wearing my jeans. Anyways, you told me you wanted me to look nice." Billy was dressed in a white button down shirt with a black blazer. He had even somehow matched a tie to his light blue eyes.

"Yeah, but when I told you that, I was just hoping you'd comb your hair," Machiavelli told him.

Billy looked vaguely insulted. "You mean I could have just ran a brush through my hair and you would have been satisfied? Why'd I dig out my old blazer?" He pulled into a spot on Main Street. "Don't get out, I'll come get you," he told the Italian, reaching into the backseat for the umbrella. He ran around the front of the car and opened Machiavelli's door.

Machiavelli took his hand and let Billy help him step out of the car. "I'm glad Scathach got this suit for me," he said happily. "I know I'll outgrow it in a week, but I love wearing suits." He followed Billy into the small Italian restaurant.

"Oh, aren't you cute?" The hostess greeted them at the front. She led them to a small table by the fireplace. "Why are boys so dressed up?"

Billy was pushing Machiavelli in front of him. "My son and I went to a show right before this and now we're having a bit of a date," he explained.

"Oh, you're sweet." The hostess patted Machiavelli's head. "Your son is absolutely precious," she told Billy, taking their orders and leaving them alone.

Billy grinned at Machiavelli. "You do look cute," he teased gently, "especially in your suit."

"You're not too bad yourself," Machiavelli mumbled. "Hey Billy, do you think I'm cute enough to get that puppy?" he asked hopefully. "The husky?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mac, we're already pretty cramped in the cabin with so many of us. I don't think we should bring a puppy into the mix, especially when we don't know where we'll be next month..."

"Well that's true," Machiavelli said sadly. His lower lip stuck out slightly. "I just liked the puppy, that's all, but I'll still love you..."

Billy groaned. "Oh, Mac, you're not playing fair at all."

Machiavelli nodded. "I know. But I want the hound." Machiavelli was in his element now. He wheedled happily, truly more intent on bugging the American than getting the puppy. He continued, "besides, it's my money. You wouldn't spend a dime."

Both men stopped talking when the waitress came over with their orders. Billy smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the Italian. "Which one of us would do the dog walking and the feeding and the poop scooping?"

Machiavelli knew he had him now. He pointed to himself. "I will," he said emphatically. "I really do love you," he told the American, twirling his spaghetti around his fork.

Billy stole one of his bread sticks. He ducked his head. "I love you too," he said softly, "but you don't play fair." He looked around the restaurant. The rain must have been keeping people away or they would never had been as secluded as they were. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "We do have to talk about something though."

"That thing you and Nick went off to talk about the other day?" Machiavelli speared one of the American's tortellini.

Billy was surprised. "How'd you knoww about that you? You were asleep."

"Not completely." The Italian smiled apologetically.

"Oh, well." Billy scratched at the back of his head, thinking carefully about what he was going to say next. "Nicholas would be able to tell you about this better, but they've elected me to break the news. The Flamels told me they've been looking into your situation in the Codex, you know, that book they tote around. I don't really know how to say this, but..."

"Am I going to die?" Machiavelli asked him. He was suddenly suspicious. "Is that why you agreed to get me the dog?"

Billy laughed gently and grabbed his fist. "Of course you're not going to die. In fact you might not have to age back to where you were at all."

Machiavelli narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about? Billy, I don't understand."

Billy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Like I said, Nick would explain it better, but basically there's a spell in the Codex that could freeze you at a certain age and you wouldn't have to age all the way back if you didn't want to."

Machiavelli chewed on the bread stick he had stolen back. "So if I chose to stay at an age that wasn't my original age, would I be stuck at that age forever?"

"No, just for a year. The spell has to be renewed annually, so you'd have to keep renewing it every year. Otherwise, you'd eventually age back to how old you were before all of this started."

"Ah, yes, medieval." Machiavelli sat back in his chair, stuffed. He was struck by curiosity. "What age would you keep me at? As a kid?" He was almost surprised when Billy shook his head. "I thought you liked having me as a kid."

"I do." Billy coughed. "I do. It's been wonderful having a kid, I never thought I'd have another chance to raise a kid. But it doesn't really matter what I think, does it? Once you're an adult again, you won't need me taking care of you?"

"Oh," Machiavelli hadn't considered that. "But I like living with you," he admitted.

"I like living with you too," Billy agreed. "I also like you being older than me."

Machiavelli cocked his head. "Why?"

"Um..." Billy wrinkled his nose, then pushed back his seat and tossed some money on the table to cover the bill. "It's hard to explain," he told the Italian, leading him out into the night. "Rain's stopped," he muttered, looking up at the sky. "Let's head back."

"How old is too old?" Machiavelli wondered as they got into the car. He tugged on the American's sleeve. "Billy, how old can I get before I'm too old for you?"

"How old?" Billy sounded surprised. "I don't care what age you are, Mac. I thought you were great when we first met and I think you're great now."

"Oh, come on now, you liked it when I was old and white haired?" Machiavelli looked at Billy, then quickly looked out the window again. "You really want to spend the rest of your days with an old man?"

The American tilted his head to the side. "Yes."

Machiavelli felt a warm fluttery feeling in his chest. He looked toward the cabin as they pulled up. "Scathach and Black Hawk are back," he told him, pointing to the Jeep. "Do you hear barking?" he asked as they walked up the front steps. He stopped at the front door and looked at Billy. "Where did they go?"

"Never mind that." Billy pulled open the door. An excited ball of fur came running out, yipping at their feet. "What are you planning on naming the puppy?"


	32. Chapter 32

"Black Hawk, tell him this is a bad idea," Billy complained to the Native American over breakfast. He pointed to Machiavelli who had settled in between Scathach and Perenelle at the table. "This kid wants to name the puppy after me."

"Why would I tell him it's a bad idea, when I think it's a great idea?" Black Hawk's face was crinkled in amusement. He held out his hand across the table. Machiavelli grabbed it to shake. "I heartily approve."

Billy protested. "It is not a great idea! It'll be confusing as all hell."

"Why? Do you respond to commands to sit and fetch?" Scathach asked him innocently. He huffed at her. Perenelle turned away, covering her mouth slightly.

"Didn't you name your dog after you?" Machiavelli asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, I was named after the dog," Billy retorted. He stamped his foot. "I mean, I got the name after the dog had it. I mean..." He looked at Black Hawk who laughed harder. He pointed at the man, calling, "You're supposed to be on my side, Slim Jim."

Black Hawk slung an arm around his shoulder. "Normally I am, Fido. But I like the Italian too." He got up and scrapped his dish down before putting it in the sink. Scathach and Perenelle finished soon after.

Machiavelli called the puppy over to him. "Come on Billy, I'll give you a bowl of water." The dog pounced after him.

Billy looked at Nicholas, who alone had remained quiet through the entire conversation. "How do you like that? I buy the kid a puppy and this is how he thanks me."

"Don't try to fight it. It's bigger than both of us," Nicholas advised mildly. Glancing over his shoulder, the small man got to his feet and opened the closet door behind them, rummaging through.

"What are you looking for?" Billy asked curiously, leaning over the older man's shoulder.

"A bucket and a mop," Nicholas answered, handing Billy the mop. He pointed in the vicinity of the back hallway just as Machiavelli ran up to them.

"Billy peed all over the floor," he told them, tugging on the American's shirt. "Come quick." He dashed back to hallway. The two immortals could hear him scolding the puppy. "Bad Billy, you don't pee on the floor."

"Oh, it starts," the Kid groaned, grabbing the bucket. He motioned the Italian away. "I'll clean up, you go outside and play. And take Kujo with you."

Black Hawk held the door open for the Italian. "Come on kid, we can show your friend the newest Billy."

Nicholas and Perenelle watched the two dash away. Machiavelli ran beside the puppy, obviously delighted with the feeling of the wildflowers hitting his legs. Black Hawk followed swiftly behind him, moving with an easy grace that looked odd for such a muscled man. The Flamels turned back to the American.

"Should have put his nose in it like my mother used to do with the Kid," Billy mumbled, mopping the floor clean. "And don't even start," he cut off Scathach, waving the mop at her. She smiled mischievously. He threw the water from the bucket out the back door.

"Billy," Nicholas called. "Niccolo's going to be gone all day. Do you want me to teach you some alchemy now? We never got a chance to before you took him on the trip."

Billy straightened. "That's right, I did ask you to teach me. I'd forgotten that." He smiled so that his prominent front teeth were showing. He rubbed his hands together. "Let's surprise Mac."

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Billy came into the kitchen late that night to find Machiavelli sitting at the table reading. "What are you doing up so late?" he yawned.

"I think Billy's lonely," Machiavelli answered, pointing to the crate where the puppy was sleeping. "So I'm keeping him company for a little bit."

"Want some ice cream?" Billy asked, scratching at his midriff. The boy nodded eagerly. "What's going in your book so far?" the American call out as he dug through the freezer.

"Felicity's sad cause her mom's planning on leaving again..."

Billy hmmed, setting the carton down on the counter to thaw. "Moving around is hard when you're a kid," he allowed. "I went from New York to Indiana to Kansas to New Mexico before I was a teenager."

"Wasn't that difficult?" Machiavelli asked, looking up at the outlaw. He fiddled with the gold pendant.

"Not so much for me," Billy hedged. The American paused what he was doing. "I didn't like moving around so much, but I could deal with it. I made friends wherever we went. But Josie had a rough time of it. He didn't have my easy charm." Billy grinned without a trace of humility. "Poor Josie, I tried to be his friend, but after our mother died we were put in separate homes and I hardly ever saw him after that."

"Billy?" Machiavelli asked. The puppy looked up from his place by the stove. "Not you," he told him, patting the dog's ears absentmindedly.

"What's up, Mac?" Billy picked up the Husky, looked into his eyes, and kissed him on the snout. "Go pee on Black Hawk," he commanded. Billy the Puppy just tilted his head. Billy gave it up as a bad job and put him back on the ground. Machiavelli watched the exchange. "You had a question?" Billy asked the Italian.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I was wondering where you lived now. Here in the cabin?" He got out two bowls.

Billy took the carton of ice cream off the counter. He shook his head. "I have places like this all over the country. Whenever I get tired of one place, I move out again."

"You just move around all the time?" Machiavelli couldn't imagine it. He had stayed in the same country for hundreds of years, never straying farther than he had to. He couldn't imagine moving around in such a way.

Billy shrugged. "I stay in places for as long as I can, but eventually people start getting suspicious and I have to go again." He handed the Italian his bowl of ice cream and tossed in a spoon. The spoon clanged on the edges.

"But you didn't like moving around when you were a kid. Why do it as an adult? There are other ways around it."

Billy pulled a face. "Part of moving around was to keep people from getting suspicious, but part of moving around was to keep from getting lonely."

"Lonely?" Machiavelli couldn't imagine Billy being lonely. If words floated above people's shoulders, Billy's words would have been danger, adventure, excitement, but never lonely.

Billy averted his gaze. "You know, I lived in once place I really enjoyed, nearly fifty years ago. I had never imagined I'd end up in New England, let alone New Hampshire, but I set up a place there and ended up staying. It was beautiful there, all forests, you think, but you go around a bend in the road or over a hill and suddenly you're in the middle of some farmer's field."

Machiavelli noticed a certain reverence in Billy's blue eyes. "Why'd you leave if you liked it so much?" he whispered.

The look shifted in Billy's eyes, turning them flint-like. "Got close to a neighboring family," he said. "They'd have me over for holidays and functions, the like. The head of the house, the matriarch was an Irish woman like my mother. They used to joke with me, ask me when I was going to settle down." He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "They had a daughter, Erin. I think they thought I'd marry her. But I knew that wouldn't be fair to her all all. So I left one day, didn't tell anyone, just left.

"Have you ever gone back there?" Machiavelli wondered out loud.

Billy grunted. "A couple of times to see how they were making it. I'd leave money if it seemed like they were having a hard time of it. But I never let them see me." He paused. "I still own that place. Maybe I could bring you up there some time." He glanced at Machiavelli through the fringe of his hair.

Machiavelli nodded. "I'd like that he," he said softly. He pushed his book closer to the American. "Will you read to me now?"


	33. Chapter 33

AN: This chapter was harder for me, as I don't tend to like OC's much myself, so I would be very thankful for any constructive criticism you could give. I am curious to know if you would like more or less of the 'John story'. As for adding additional characters, I have to say, it's unlikely that I'll be adding anybody else for awhile. I think the cabin's full enough with the way things are going... As always, I'm open to suggestions.

* * *

Machiavelli tugged on Scathach's arm. "We're going down to the park. Want to come?" He looked hopefully at her, giving her puppy eyes.

The Warrior looked up. "Who else is going? Just you and Billy?"

"And Billy," Machiavelli added promptly.

"He means the hound," Billy explained, walking by. He drew the boy closer to him. "Mac, don't you think we should change the dog's name, before he gets too attached to it? And I spend the rest of my life playing second fiddle to a pooch?"

"I guess it's a little confusing having two Billys," Machiavelli allowed.

"Confusing! It's been driving me nuts," Billy said. "I told you it was madness."

"Okay, well what are we going to call him?" Machiavelli asked looking at the puppy. The husky looked up at them, cocking his head. "We could call him Einstein. He looks intelligent."

Scathach shook her head, sitting down beside Billy. "No more people names. If we're going to give him a different name, I don't want to mix it up with any of the people I've met over the years."

"Okay." Machiavelli ticked the options off on his fingers. "There's Lupo, Drago, Gaio, or Icarus..."

"Icarus would be a cool name," Billy interrupted.

Scathach nodded. "Icarus," she called, snapping her fingers. The dog just looked at her.

"Come on, Icarus. Come here," Machiavelli called. The dog laid down and Billy groaned. He pantomimed playing a fiddle and threw his hands up in the air. Machiavelli patted him on the arm. "We'll figure out something."

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Machiavelli fell backwards into the air, pulled back to the ground from where he had rested in the heavens. He swung backwards, hit his limit, and felt Billy push him forward with a mighty shove.

"Billy," Machiavelli called in between pushes. "Do I look older?" He whooped when Billy gave him an extra strong push.

"Yeah, a little bit older," Billy admitted. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to say to John yet?"

The Italian hesitated. "I think I'm just going to wait until he brings it up and play it by ear," he said finally.

"You, play things by ear?" Billy drawled, giving him a final push before he leaned against the side of the swingset. "You've been spending too much time with me."

"You bet," Machiavelli laughed, pumping his legs to get himself higher.

"Are you nervous?" Billy asked. Machiavelli nodded, swinging past him. "Well, good luck, cause here he comes," Billy told him. He waved his hat at the boy and waved it in mock salute. John ran over.

"Hi!" Machiavelli yelled down. He let go off the swing entirely, waving his hands frantically before grabbing back on.

Billy clutched his chest. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he told the Italian. He started the little boy off on the swing, pulling him back and giving him a firm push. "How are things John?"

"Fine," he called back, leaning backward to look at the American and sat up quickly. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Billy drawled. "I like you, John; you're a good boy. You deserve a good life." The boy flushed happily, but refused to look at either of them, looking instead at the blue skies. Billy stepped away from the two, and untied the dog's leash. "I'm going walk The Pup," he called, moving away from the swings.

"Why does he call your dog 'The Pup'?" John asked his friend curiously.

Machiavelli stopped pumping for a minute so that the other boy could catch up. "Well, he doesn't like to call him Billy, cause I named the dog after him. So he's decided to call him Pup, Billy the Pup. Tells them apart, see?"

"Billy the Pup, like Billy the Kid?" John called.

The Italian nearly fell out of his swing. He schooled his expression carefully. "Who's Billy the Kid? Some thug?"

John twisted a little on his swing, which caused it to go off track. "No, he's an outlaw," he defended.

"What's the difference?"

"Well," John thought carefully before he spoke again. "A thug doesn't get in trouble with the law but is bad, an outlaw gets in trouble with the law but most people think their good."

"You think he's a good guy, huh?" Machiavelli asked with a faint smile.

"I think he's a great guy," John yelled, jumping off of his swing and landing in the sand.

Both boys watched as Billy ran by, chasing the ball that Billy had thrown. Moments later, the human Billy ran after the dog. "Talking about me?" he asked as he jogged by. John laughed and Machiavelli fell out of his swing. The tall boy stood up, carefully brushing the sand off his shorts.

"What'll we do?" the Italian asked the boy.

"Want to go play with the Pup?" John asked. He looked over at Billy and the husky, then back at Machiavelli.

Machiavelli smoothed over the expression on his face. "We could play with the dog," he said carefully, "but let's go over by the river first. We should talk."

"Okay," John said happily, missing the look on the other boy's face. "I'll race you!" And he ran off.

Machiavelli followed him unhappily, certain that this was going to end well. He cocked his head as they leaned against the railing. "Do you believe in magic?" he asked.

John looked at him strangely. "I guess so. Why are you asking?" He frowned. "Have you gotten taller?" he asked.

"I have," Machiavelli acknowledged. "But it's only fair, seeing as today is kind of my birthday."

John was confused. "I thought it was your birthday that day that I first met you? You got that gold pendant from Billy."

"Remember when you said that Billy and I seem a bit odd?" Machiavelli's voice was soft and gentle. He pushed on through the younger boy's bashful protests. "We are odd," he laughed.

"Who are you?" John whispered.

He paused, reading the language of John's face. The boy looked half scared, half excited. He decided he'd better do it completely, if he was going to do it at all. "My name is Niccolo Machiavelli and I'm 545 years old."

"You're pulling my leg," John said weakly. "You couldn't possibly be that old. You're a kid like me."

"Well, I'm stuck in my younger body right now, which is why Billy takes care of me, but I age a year every week." The Italian took it as a good sign that John hadn't started running yet, but felt compelled to ask if was all right.

John nodded mutely. He said nothing.

Machiavelli pointed to the American playing fetch with the husky. "Ask Billy to tell you what's going on. He'll tell you the same thing." He lowered his voice. " I know this is a lot. And I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to get away from us. But we are trying to help you." He got to his feet.

John tilted his head. "Us?" he asked. "There are more of you?" Machiavelli looked over at Billy. John's eyes widened. "Billy?"

"And the others." Machiavelli supplied.

"I think I should go home now," John said faintly.

"Okay," the Italian said, jamming his hands into his pockets. He watched the boy run off. He turned to see Billy watching the boy go too. Billy looked over at him and waved slightly. The Italian began to pick his way towards the American, petting the dog's head as it trotted beside him.

Billy touched him lightly on the shoulder. "It's a lot to take in," he soothed. "Let's give him some time."


	34. Chapter 34

"Are you sure you can teach me to ride a horse?" Machiavelli asked the others worriedly. He looked around the Jeep. All the others looked perfectly calm, but the Italian was feeling more nervous by the minute.

"You'll be fine," Billy soothed. He held the Italian's hand.

"Unless the horse bucks you," Black Hawk called from the wheel. Machiavelli whimpered and Billy smacked the Native American on the back of the head sharply.

"Don't listen to him," Scathach said, turning around to look at Billy and Machiavelli. She smiled, showing her pointed teeth. "We're all here to help you."

"Yeah, all of us," Black Hawk admitted from the wheel.

"Why are you so worried?" Billy asked. "Surely you had to ride horses when you were traveling all over Italy as a politician."

Machiavelli was holding his hand tightly. "I was never good at it. Besides, I was always in a carriage, not on the horse."

Billy leaned forward to talk to Scathach. Quietly, so Machiavelli wouldn't hear, he asked, "Is this a good idea? He seems really scared."

She leaned back. "I think he'll have fun once we get him going. Remember, there's a lot of things he's done recently that scared him and he's always had fun in the end."

"True," Billy agreed reluctantly. He leaned back in his seat and threw his arm around Machiavelli. The Italian leaned into his touch. Billy rubbed his arm roughly. "You're going to have fun, Mac. I'm going to put you on the gentlest horse. Nobody's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

Machiavelli winced when they went over a big bump in the road. "And you'll stay with me the whole time?" Billy nodded. "Maybe we should just go back. What about Pup? And John?"

"The Flamels are watching your dog," Scathach broke in. "And you need some time away from John."

The Italian turned to Billy. "You were a good rider, weren't you?"

Billy smiled. "I was a great rider. I could pick things up off the ground, turn around in the saddle, shoot a gun..."

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"Don't you want to ride horses like Scathach and Black Hawk? I could just watch from the sidelines," Machiavelli trailed behind Billy. He breathed deeply. The stable smelled like hay, leather, and just the faintest traces of manure. "You like riding horses, you don't have to babysit me..."

Billy slung his arm around Machiavelli. "I can ride horses whenever. I want to be with you." He steered the boy towards the stall at the end of the stable. "We're not even going to put you on a horse yet. You're just going to get used to her."

They stopped in front of the stall. Machiavelli looked up at the horse. "She's awfully big, isn't she?"

Billy petted the horse's muzzle. "She's the gentlest horse they have. I checked." He picked Machiavelli up, guiding the boy's hand over the horse's neck muscles. The Italian sat on the stall door, keeping one hand wrapped around Billy's shoulders and patting the horse with his other hand. The mare bobbed her head up and down appreciatively. "See, she likes you already."

"What's her name?" Machiavelli asked, swinging his leg back around the stall door and dropped down to the ground.

"They call her Wind Blown." Billy pressed his thumbs into the core of an apple and split it into two parts. He handed one part to the Italian. "Hold it out on your hand, but keep your fingers flat."

Machiavelli did as he was told. He giggled a little when the horse's tongue brushed up against his hand. He looked over at Billy, who'd begun to brush down the horse. "Can I help?" he asked. He felt shy, as though he had met Billy for the first time.

Billy pushed a stool up beside the horse. "Here," he said, settling behind Machiavelli. He showed the Italian which brushes to use and how to use them. The outlaw ducked under the horse's head and began to work on the other side of the horse.

Machiavelli smiled, hearing him begin to sing Roy Orbison songs. He wanted to join in, but lost his nerve, and instead hummed along with the American.

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After lunch time, Billy carried Machiavelli on his shoulders. They'd caught up with the other two immortals, Scathach accompanying them back to the stable and Black Hawk continuing to ride his horse in the bigger paddock.

Machiavelli chattered excitedly to both of the adult immortals. At the stable entrance, he swung off of Billy's shoulders and dropped lightly to the ground. "This is my horse," he told Scathach, pulling her behind him.

"You still nervous?" she asked him, nudging the Italian with the tip of her boot.

Machiavelli looked up. "Not too much," he said. "You're going to stay with me, aren't you?" he asked, looking back and forth between Billy and Scathach.

"Absolutely," Billy answered, leading Wind Blown down the stable aisle. When they were out in the small paddock. "You know if you were just a bit taller, I'd have you step into the stirrup and pull yourself up, but you're still a little too small for that." He hefted Machiavelli up. "You always get on a horse from the left side," he told Machiavelli. "And sit with your back straight."

Machiavelli felt the familiar wave of nervousness sweep over on him as he sat on the saddle of the horse. Billy patted his thigh, settling his other hand on the Italian's back. Scathach handed him the reins. "You've got to hold them firmly, but not tightly."

"Relax, Mac," Billy soothed. "To get the horse to begin to walk, you squeeze its sides with your lower legs. Scathach's going to lead you and I'll be right here. When you're ready," he said patiently.

Machiavelli took a deep breath and squeezed the horse's sides. Instantly, the mare began to walk forward. He glanced at Billy nervously, but let the horse move forward. He felt some of the tension leak out of his body. Billy kept his hand on the small of his back, reassuring him.


	35. Chapter 35

"Billy?" Machiavelli's head poked through the trapdoor. He climbed up a rung higher. "What are you doing up here?"

Billy climbed over a box and came over to where Machiavelli was waiting. He helped the Italian up so that the boy was all the way into the attic.

"Well, things are getting awfully crowded in our little cabin."

"So you decided to come up here?"

Billy laughed. "I was thinking we could make this into a bedroom for Scatty. But now that I'm up here, I think it's too small." He led the Italian over to the back corner.

"It is a bit small up here," Machiavelli admitted. "But not as hot as I thought it would be up here."

Billy's voice was muffled. "I insulated it when I built this place. And I put in windows on both sides." He looked up for a moment before bending back over the chest he was combing through.

Machiavelli turned around looking at the beams of the ceiling. "You built this place, Billy?" he asked, amazed.

"Mmm," Billy acknowledged. He pulled something out of the chest. "Hey, Mac, here's the saddle I had before I was made immortal." He ran his fingers over the faded leather. Machiavelli settled down beside him. Billy ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "Did you like riding horses yesterday?" he asked softly.

"I did. We should go again sometime." He looked into the box that Billy was going through. "What else is in here?"

Billy flashed a smile. "Lots of stuff. For instance, here's my old gun. Don't worry it's not loaded."

The Italian took the gun carefully, though Billy's hands remained on top of his. The American showed him how to pop open the chamber of the gun. Machiavelli experimentally pushed the chamber closed again with his thumb. It made a loud click as it snapped back in place.

Billy had gone back to rifling through the box by that point, so Machiavelli put aside the gun and leaned into the box, watching the American shift objects over. He grabbed a small cigar box at the bottom of the chest and painstakingly extracted it. "What's this?"

Billy flipped the box around and smiled, rubbing the worn corners of the box. He stood up, helping the Italian to his feet. "It's pictures, all the pictures I have really. Let's go downstairs and I'll show them to you."

Machiavelli dusted his pants off carefully and stepped through a coat rack, forging his own shortcut. He tilted his head. "You know Billy, we could build an extension on this cabin. For Scathach and maybe an extra room for Black Hawk too. That way you won't have to share with him anymore."

Billy followed him down the ladder and pushed him towards the living room. They settled on the couch, the husky slumping on the floor next to them. "That's an idea," Billy agreed. "I'd love to have my own bedroom again. Anyways," he opened up the cigar box, "I'm sure you already know this, but photographs were fairly expensive when I was growing up. Now, I lost that tintype, but I've still got these." He held up the first picture and gazed at it for a moment before handing it to Machiavelli.

The Italian immortal took the picture from Billy's hand, careful not to touch anything but the edges. The picture showed the profile of a woman with fair hair and a thin nose; Machiavelli noticed something familiar in her clear colored eyes. He looked up at the American immortal. "Billy is this-?"

"My mother," Billy supplied. He looked over the Italian's shoulder. With the tip of his finger, he traced her jawline.

"She's really pretty," Machiavelli said warmly. He looked at the picture again, noting the similarities and differences between the woman in the picture and the man beside him.

Billy gave him a different picture. Machiavelli looked into the stern, worn out face of an older man. This man's muddy brown eyes stared directly at the camera. "My brother," Billy said. "Shortly before he died."

"He doesn't look like you very much," Machiavelli muttered. The man in the picture was frowning slightly.

"Josie was always serious," Billy reminded him. He took the picture back, examining it critically. "When I found out he was sick, his last couple of years, I went to visit him. He didn't have any family left and I didn't think it was right for him to die alone."

Machiavelli nodded. He pulled a picture out of the stack and smiled. This photo was in color, capturing the image of Billy and Black Hawk outside of what was clearly a Springsteen concert. Billy was leaning against the Native American in a similar pose to the Born to Run cover.

"Perenelle brought up some pictures for me to add to my collection," Billy told him. He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the Italian.

Machiavelli opened the envelope curiously. "When did you guys take all of these?" He looked at the first picture and recognized the motel room they had stayed in. His three year old self was looking at the camera, leaning heavily on Billy. "I remember you taking pictures, but not all of these."

"Remember us taking this one?" Billy directed him toward the second picture.

The Italian grinned, looking at himself holding a Nerf gun over Nicholas's still body. "Oh, that's when I shot him." Billy set aside the picture. "Why are you doing that?"

"Nick wants to send it to some French friends of his. They've been asking what you're like."

"Germain?" Machiavelli asked absently, shuffling through the pictures.

"That's the one," Billy agreed. He held up the last picture in the bunch. "You were so sleepy in this one. You probably don't remember us taking it."

The Italian examined it. "That was the night before we took our trip, isn't it?" he asked slowly.

They heard the car door slam. "Sounds like they're back from their trip to town," Billy said mildly, collecting up his photographs. Machiavelli leaned in close, taking Billy's hand.

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"Billy!" Machiavelli called through the door. He struggled with the squirming bundle in his arms.

"Oh, no," Billy groaned. "What's that?"

"Our newest addition to the family?" Machiavelli asked hopefully.

Billy looked over at Nicholas Flamel for help. The Frenchman gave him no help what-so-ever, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know if we have room for another animal, Mac. Besides what about The Pup? He's not going to like a feline addition to the family."

Machiavelli set the cat down on the ground and began to open a can of dog food for the stray. The cat, a silver tabby, slunk under one of the kitchen chairs and sat there, watching the people in the room carefully. "But Billy," Machiavelli stressed patiently, "I've already introduced George and Billy."

"George?" Black Hawk asked.

Billy put his head in his hands. "Oh god, he's named it."

Scathach nodded sagely as she settled on the floor beside the tabby. "Can't get rid of it once it has a name," she told the room. "Why George though?" she asked the Italian, watching him coax the cat out.

"He looks like a George," Machiavelli explained.

"George has no balls," Billy pointed out.

Black Hawk whistled. "Awkward," he mumbled under his breath.

Billy looked at Machiavelli. Machiavelli looked at Billy. The American gave in. "I guess we'll have to call her Georgette then," he conceded.

"Yes!" The Italian immortal threw his arms around Billy. "I love you!" he hollered.

Billy sat there with a stunned smile on his face. "But no more pets," he told the Italian sternly. We don't have room for anybody else in this cabin."

Machiavelli agreed easily. He gave Billy a wet kiss on his cheek and scampered off with the cat in his arms. The puppy followed behind him, trotting up the stairs behind the Italian.

Billy turned to Black Hawk. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I'm thinking," he said, "that we should build an addition onto this cabin if we're all going to stay here. Do you want to help?"

"I think I'd better. This cabin is getting more crowded by the day," Black Hawk huffed from his place.


	36. Chapter 36

AN: Reviews and suggestions are always welcome! Thanks~

* * *

The next morning, Machiavelli came down cradling Georgette like a baby. Georgette had a bemused expression on her face, bearing it for only a moment before jumping down lightly. Machiavelli carefully filled the animals' dishes with dry food before looking around. "Where's Billy?" he asked Perenelle.

"Black Hawk's taking him for his morning walk," Perenelle answered, sipping from her coffee mug.

"Not the dog," Machiavelli laughed. "Though I was wondering where he was too. But my Billy. The Kid."

Nicholas looked up. "He went to town to get the building permit and supplies for the other cabin. Scathach went with him."

"I thought we were just putting an extension on," Machiavelli said, coaxing Georgette over with a piece of bacon. The cat sniffed at it but didn't eat it until he tore the bacon until smaller pieces. Machiavelli rubbed behind her ears.

"That was the plan-," Nicholas began.

"But then we got a call, saying we were going to have company." Scathach broke in. She came into the kitchen, Billy trailing closely behind her. The Warrior remained standing, leaning her elbows on Nicholas's shoulders.

Machiavelli straightened up, distracted. "Who's coming to visit?"

"Germain and Joan," Scathach said happily. "He's doing an American tour for his music and they worked into his schedule a week off. So they'll be able to stop and stay with us for the week."

The boy knocked his fork off the table by accident. He leaned over to grab it and Billy bent over too. The American nudged Machiavelli. "What's the matter?" he asked, pitching his voice low. The other immortals continued talking. Machiavelli could hear the happy buzz of their words.

"I don't think they're going to like me," he whispered back, straightening up. "Want to go play fetch with the Pup with me? Black Hawk's back."

"Sure," Billy agreed. He downed his coffee with one gulp. "We'll be outside," he told the others. He followed Machiavelli out into the bright sunlight, waving at Black Hawk. "Let him loose," he called. Black Hawk unclipped the husky's leash.

Machiavelli tossed a stick and the dog ran to grab it. Turning to Billy, he looked at the American. "I don't think the Germains are going to like me," he said carefully. "Just a month ago, we were on opposite sides."

"So was I."

"I blew up their house. Sicced ancient warriors and a corpse eating monster on their friend. Tried to kidnap their guests."

"Could happen to anybody."

"And then I sent a legion of stone monsters on them," Machiavelli finished, tossing the stick for a third time.

Billy tugged the stick out of the husky's mouth when he came back again. He faked the dog out, before tossing the stick in the opposite direction. "Nobody's perfect," he said cheerfully. "But we won't know if they like you until they get here."

"I suppose."

"Hey, Mac," Billy called out cheerfully. "I can't say if they'll like you or not, but I know this: I'll always love you." The American picked him up and swung him around. Machiavelli gasped in surprise, but began to laugh, especially when Billy began to swing him up and down. The Pup yipped around them, chasing Machiavelli's heels. Billy beamed, settling Machiavelli back on his feet. "Guess who I ran into when I was in town?"

"John?" Machiavelli guessed correctly. "So what happened? Did you talk?"

"We did. He asked where you've been lately." Billy grinned at him. "I told him we were building the cabin, asked if he wanted to help us build it."

"Help us build it?" Machiavelli questioned. "I thought you were going to make it."

"You're going to help me, aren't you?" Billy asked the Italian. "I helped my stepfather build our house in Kansas and in New Mexico. I was about your age at the time."

Machiavelli tilted his head, then smiled. "I'd like to help you," he agreed shyly.

"Good. The supplies won't be here until the afternoon. We can swing by and grab John if you want. Maybe we can convince him to work for a wage." Billy smiled at the Italian. They headed back to the main cabin. "I'm going to read until lunch."

Machiavelli trotted along beside him."I saw that book. It's all in German. Why'd you decide to learn German?" Machiavelli asked. He arched an eyebrow. "Why not Italian?"

Billy laughed. "Italian's too close to Spanish. I was getting all of my la's and il's and lo's mixed up. German was a relief after all that. Completely different." He jumped over the back of the couch and settled into the cushions. The boy pulled himself over the back of the couch and tumbled into Billy's lap. The American grunted a little, shifting Machiavelli so that the boy's knee was not driving itself into the man's crotch.

If Machiavelli noticed any of this, he didn't acknowledge it. "So you picked up German easily?" Machiavelli asked, looking at the American before grabbing the book away. He looked at the ink drawings on the inside of the book.

"No," Billy commented. "They say 'Deutsche Sprache, schwere Sprache'. German is difficult," he translated, seeing the expression on the Italian's face. "But I like it. English is a germanically based language. I never got to spend a lot of time in school. There's still a lot I'd like to know."

"So what's the book about?" Machiavelli questioned.

"Die Weisse Rose was a nonviolent resistance movement that happened during the time of Nazi Germany. They sent around leaflets so that people wouldn't be afraid to resist the Nazis. They were tried as enemies to the state and were beheaded." Billy frowned. "Sometimes I get to thinking at night that I should have done more. People were getting persecuted everywhere and I did nothing to help them."

"I didn't do anything either," Machiavelli reminded him softly. "I had long stopped caring for humanity. Remember the faceless masses?" Billy nodded. Machiavelli sighed as he spun the book around on the table, but looked up with a muted smile. "You reminded me of what it meant to be human. I won't forget it again."

"We bring out the best in each other," Billy agreed. He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Want to teach me Italian some time?


	37. Chapter 37

Machiavelli helped Perenelle clear up after lunch. The Italian longed to join Billy and Black Hawk in the backyard, but he had been conditioned strongly by his mother to help out the women in his life. "Go ahead," the Frenchwoman said, catching him looking out the backdoor. "But tie up your dog, you don't want him getting underfoot when you're putting the house together."

"Okay." Machiavelli tied the Pup to the front porch and ducked through the house and out the back door, running to reach Billy and Black Hawk. The two immortals were standing in a clearing behind the cabin, looking over a large piece of blue paper. He felt suddenly shy as he approached the two men. "Are you starting to build it right now?"

Billy rubbed the back of his head. "Black Hawk wants to get it built sooner rather than later. And with the extra people coming now, it's probably a good idea to get it done quick."

"It's not that I don't like living in Billy's armpit," Black Hawk drawled from his place against a tree. "But things are getting crowded in that cabin."

Billy smacked him with a trowel. Turning to Machiavelli, he motioned to the clearing around them. "Before we get John, I want to put the piping in."

"Why?" Machiavelli asked curiously.

Billy crouched down by the Italian. "Cause I want to put the pipes in with magic," he whispered, "and I can't do that with the kid around without seriously freaking him out."

"Ah," Machiavelli nodded. "That makes sense. So what are you going to do, use magic to move the dirt faster?"

"No," Nicholas said from behind Machiavelli. The Italian jumped slightly. "We're going to use transmutation to soften the ground and push the pipes in all at once."

"Makes sense," Machiavelli said, glad not to be digging. He watched with some interest as Nicholas touched the ground and the air around them came alive with the scent of mint. Billy forced the piping into the ground with minimal effort. The whole process took five minutes.

Billy slapped his hands together. "Let's just mark the foundation and then we can go get John." He took up a stake and tied a cord around it. He pounded the stake into place. He measured out the proper length of the wall on the ground and positioned the stake in the proper spot. "Here, Mac, I'll hang on to this and you can pound it in." He handed Machiavelli a mallet. "Bang it in."

Machiavelli took the mallet and began gently tapping on the stake. He looked up at the American, who raised his eyebrows slightly. Machiavelli paused, repositioned his hand on the handle, and continued to tap in the stake with light strokes.

"Promise me that when it starts to snow, you'll let me get my coat?" Billy joked. "I know we're immortal, and we've got all the time in the world, but Mac, we don't have all the time in the world."

Machiavelli arched his eyebrows, continuing a steady stream of taps. "Are you insinuating that I'm too slow?"

"No, I'm saying it outright."

"I'm just afraid I'm going to hurt you," Machiavelli said.

"Ah," Billy waved his hands around in the air before grabbing the stake again, "hit me with your best shot."

"You just watch me..."

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"So, you did this with your stepfather?" Machiavelli asked Billy with some interest. Together, he and John hefted the last concrete block into place. Billy pressed the block into the cement, carefully minding his bandaged thumbs.

"This isn't quite how we made our cabin," Billy grunted. "Things were different back then. But it's roughly similar."

"Have you ever built a cabin before?" John asked Black Hawk.

The Native American looked up, surprised to be spoken to by the shy boy. "I made a whole slew of them a couple of years back on an Indian reservation. But I'm following Billy's lead on this one." He grinned. "If the cabin collapses and everyone dies, it'll be on his head." Black Hawk moved off to grab the planks of wood they were using to make the floor.

John stared after the Native American, clearly not sure what to make of the muscled man.

Billy settled a hand on John's shoulder. "Black Hawk's an acquired taste. He means no harm." John nodded mutely.

"Are we going to put the walls on now?" Machiavelli called from his place by the foundation.

"No," Billy answered back, beckoning him closer. "We have to wait for the cement to dry before we can drill the floor into it. But we can make the walls now. They're built separately from the floor and foundation anyways." He explained how they were going to make the frames then stabilize them with support beams.

The two boys listened to him with rapt attention. The Italian glanced back at the foundation. What his American friend was describing seemed impossible, but Billy seemed completely confident. By his side, John listened to every word intently. When Billy was done explaining what they needed to do, John set to work, carefully nailing together the sections.

Billy caught up to Machiavelli. Under the pretense of checking the Italian's work, Billy leaned over him and whispered in his ear. "Seems happy, doesn't he?" Machiavelli nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe he'll be an architect someday."

"Maybe. I'm going to go check on dinner," Machiavelli said, brushing off his hands. He passed John as he went back towards the main cabin.

John wandered over to Billy's side. He watched Billy checking the measurements. The American felt the boy's gaze on him and looked up."So, Mac told you about us?" Billy asked curiously.

The boy tilted his head. "He said you had were immortal, that you had lived for hundreds of years." He dropped his voice. "How can any of that be true?"

Billy let go of the board he was working with. "Do you believe in magic?" the American asked the boy.

"Nick asked that. I don't know," John whispered.

"Let me show you." Billy rubbed his hands together. Sparks fell from his hands, a spicy scent filling the air. All at once, the flooring that they had been nailing down lifted into the air and settled into place one by one. John watched in open-mouthed wonder as individual nails punched into place. Billy smiled down at him.

"Kind of makes anything seem possible, doesn't it?" Billy said happily.


	38. Chapter 38

Once John had seen their "magic" in action, the boy had a hard time understanding why the immortals would build the cabin by hand. Billy tried to explain, with little success.

"It's better to do things with your own hands," he explained, while nailing down the wall Black Hawk held up for him. "If you do everything with magic, you lose the feeling of accomplishment you get from doing something good."

John shook his head. "What?"

Black Hawk laughed. "I'm with you, kid." He addressed Billy. "We could have finished this yesterday. It's not like there are people around to see us."

Machiavelli stopped his hammering for a moment with a certain reluctance to observe the conversation. Once he had gotten over his initial fear of doing something wrong, he had found a certain amount of joy in hammering. Each nail head had Dr. John Dee's face on it. The Italian had purposefully stayed out of the conversation, preferring to watch and assess. Now he spoke up, helping Billy ground the conversation.

"Your aura is like a battery in a phone. The more you use the phone, the more drained it gets. Eventually, you can recharge your aura, but it takes time." He paused and looked away from John. The boy seemed fascinated. "It's better to only use your aura for when you really need it."

"Besides, it's fun to build things," Billy chimed in. He climbed two rungs higher on the ladder he had been standing on and began to secure the corners. He paused and cocked his head. "Aren't you having fun?" he asked John.

The boy grinned. "I am. But I don't have any other options."

Billy laughed.

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"Are you done for the day?" Scathach asked incredulously a couple of hours later, watching Billy and the two boys lay down their tools. "I just started an hour ago. You guys are leaving me?"

"We're going to go down to the lake for a little bit since this is the hottest part of the day," Billy told her.

"Is it hot?" Scathach stuck her head out the window and looked toward the sky.

Billy lowered his voice so that John, who was staring at Scathach, wouldn't hear. "We can't all have your superior genes." He gently pushed the younger boy towards the lake. Machiavelli had already headed in that direction, but John seemed equally fascinated with and afraid of the Warrior. John broke his stare and headed for the water at last. Billy lowered his voice again. "He's in love," he said, nodding to the boy and smiling.

Scathach huffed. "He looks at me like I'm the first woman he's ever seen."

"Have you seen some of the women in town?" Billy laughed. "You just might be the first." He ducked as she struck at him.

"Careful, Billy," Black Hawk called. "If she had wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now. Best not to give her a reason."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep putting in the insulation, buddy." Billy clapped him on the back. He leaned in to gently kiss Scathach on the cheek before jumping out the front door and down into the grass. He took off, running with surprising agility, swinging around the main cabin and flat footing it down the incline.

"Incoming!" John shouted. Both boys swam desperately to the left, watching as Billy ran towards them. The American pulled off his shirt and flung it behind him, somehow pulled off both boots and made his way down the dock, stopped at the end of the dock and belly flopped into the lake.

Machiavelli expected Billy to come up right away and was surprised when the man didn't. John splashed around happily once the immediate threat of being squashed was out of the way, but the Italian waited for Billy to come up again out of the water and felt a twinge of fear as the moments ticked by and there was no sight of the American. "Billy?" he called, treading water and twisting in the water. "Billy, where are you?"

There was the faintest touch of something wet at his ankle and Machiavelli swung around, trying to see into the murky water. He had just barely convinced himself that he was imagining things when he was pushed rapidly upwards into the air. The Italian gasped in surprise, but was relieved when he looked down to find himself sitting on Billy's shoulders. "Wet, isn't it?" Billy said happily, spitting out a mouthful of water.

Machiavelli smacked him on the head. "You frightened me."

"Sorry," Billy apologized easily, walking around in the shallower water. "I figured you'd know it was me after a minute."

"Not for that," Machiavelli admonished. "I didn't know where you were. I was beginning to think you drowned."

"Me?" Billy grinned. "Never." He turned around so that his back was to the deeper water. He glanced up at Machiavelli with a mischievous glint in his eye that told the Italian he was planning something.

"Billy, what are you thinking of doing?" Machiavelli asked, but even as he was forming the question, he knew what the American was planning. "Don't you dare."

But it was too late. Billy leaned back and let them both fall into the water with a gigantic splash.

Machiavelli came to the surface, spluttering. "You're incorrigible."

"Thanks, I work out." Billy floated on his back.

Machiavelli squinted at him. Sometimes he wasn't sure exactly where Billy was joking and where he wasn't. He looked back to the shoreline when he heard a happy yipping. Their dog was running ahead of the Flamels in their direction. "Is he wearing a life jacket?" Machiavelli asked with some amusement.

Billy straightened. "Oh, good, they got it on him." He looked at Machiavelli's raised eyebrows. "Well, he's just a puppy," he defended himself. Both immortals watched the dog skid to a stop at the end of the dock. He looked to where his owners were waiting, backed up slightly, and jumped into the lake with something akin to a cannonball.

Machiavelli spit some water in Billy's direction. "Did you two have the same swim class?"

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Their break turned into an all afternoon event. Scathach and Black Hawk had joined the group mid afternoon, though the Warrior Maid firmly refused to go in the water. She kept Perenelle company on the end of the dock, the women trailing their feet in the water.

"How much did you two get done?" Billy asked Black Hawk, swimming up beside the Native American.

"We're almost done," Black Hawk said. He lowered his voice. "After you guys left, we starting using our auras to speed it up a little."

Billy shrugged. "That's fine," he said. "I'm amenable to anything if it means I get my bedroom back to myself." He grinned happily and swam over to the ladies at the dock. The American's easy laugh floated across the water.


	39. Chapter 39

Machiavelli ran his hands on the smooth plaster of the walls. He looked over at Billy lounging in the doorway. "When did you guys do this?"

Billy rubbed at his eyes and yawned. "Last night. Technically, we don't need sleep, so Black Hawk and Scathach and me, we stayed up and got everything put together."

"Why, though?" Machiavelli asked, wandering up the stairs.

"Because I can't take living in the same room with Black Hawk for one more day." Billy followed him up. He pointed to the room on the left. "We figured we'd put Scathach in this one and the Germains in the other room, the one above the kitchen and bathroom."

"And I'd rather sleep in the Jeep than spend another night with him," Black Hawk's voice floated up the stairs. Moments later the bronze man's head poked up the stairs. He tapped at the windows. "We had a hell of a time installing these in the dark."

Billy wrapped an arm around Machiavelli's shoulders. "We still need to paint the walls," he told the Italian. "Want to pick out the paint with me?"

"Sure." Machiavelli leaned back against the American and looked up at him through his long lashes. "Just the two of us?" Machiavelli questioned hopefully.

Billy shrugged. "Yeah, I mean Black Hawk doesn't care what color his walls are, do you?" He looked at the Native American. Black Hawk shook his head. "Something green, huh?"

"Like my Jeep!" Black Hawk drawled as he thumped down the stairs.

Billy started to follow him but realized the Italian hadn't moved and came back up the stairs. Machiavelli ran his fingers along the banister and slowly made his way to where the outlaw was waiting. "You do nice work," he complimented. "When are we putting the appliances in and stuff?"

"The appliances and furniture will go in tomorrow. Today we have to paint the inside and put a sealant on the outside." He grabbed Machiavelli and turned him away from the Thunderbird and towards the Jeep instead.

Machiavelli was confused. "We're not taking your car?"

"Put paint in my baby? Are you crazy?" He looked slightly outraged. "No way."

"But I thought you didn't like the Jeep," Machiavelli said, reaching back to grab the seat buckle. He wrinkled his nose with some distaste as they began to bounce down the road. He shouted over the ambient noise. "Did Black Hawk take the shocks out of the car?"

"He just might have," Billy yelled back. He whooped as they got to the straighter part of the road and he was able to really open up. "I think that man is nuts sometimes."

Machiavelli held both his arms out the window, feeling the wind rush around his fingers. "You're both nuts," he shouted.

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"And she took the money?" Machiavelli asked curiously. They had just dropped John off at his house after a long day of painting the house. Billy had somehow convinced the boy's mother to accept the money John had earned, much to the amazement of the boys.

Billy shrugged, pulling out onto the road. The Italian expected him to take a right at the end of the long drive way, but Billy spun the wheel in the opposite direction instead. "I have a way with women," Billy said, flashing a smile at Machiavelli. His large teeth shone white in the moonlight. "I just told her that I had worked her boy to the bone the last couple of days and that I wasn't going to leave without giving her the money."

"She seems like a very stern woman. I'm surprised she didn't frighten you," Machiavelli commented, taking one last look at the gray house before they disappeared into the treeline. "Where are we going?"

"There's a place at the top of this mountain where there are no trees. You feel so close to the sky, you begin to think you could touch the moon. I wanted to show it to you." Billy fell silent, pressing down hard on the gas as the incline grew steeper. Machiavelli could hear the engine rumble.

The Italian yawned. "We did a lot of work today," he mumbled. His eyelids felt heavy and he tapped at his face sharply to keep himself awake. "Are we there?" he asked as the car stopped.

Billy nodded, pulling Machiavelli out of the car on his side. They walked to the edge of the ridge and sat with their legs hanging in the air. From where they sat, they could see the entirety of the lake below them, the moon illuminating just the shadowy edges of the world around them. "Pretty, isn't it?" Billy said, grinning at him.

Machiavelli nodded dumbly and reached out for Billy's hand. Beneath the star studded sky, he felt insignificantly small. A patch of movement caught his eye and leaning forward, he watched an enormous moose step into the water of the lake, its movements precise and delicate. He leaned heavily into Billy's side.

"Tired?" Machiavelli nodded. Billy stroked the Italian's fluffy brown hair. He glanced at Machiavelli, looked up at the sky, and then quickly, suddenly, kissed him lightly on the top of his head. "Let's go home, then," he said. The outlaw rose and, with one arm beneath his legs and the other behind the boy's back, lifted him up. Machiavelli turned into the man's torso, feeling heavy and warm. He was asleep before Billy even had him completely settled into the car seat.


	40. Chapter 40

Machiavelli woke up to the unusual sound of a truck directly below his bedroom window. He scrambled out of bed and immediately noticed the uncomfortable sensation of too tight pajamas. He swallowed as he got stuck inside his shirt as he was taking it off and must have made some noise of distress because a moment later, he heard his door click open and the shirt was tugged off sharply.

Nicholas Flamel looked at the Italian with some concern. "Is everything alright?" he asked in archaic French.

Machiavelli nodded, feeling embarrassed. "Slightly claustrophobic," he mumbled. He made a motion with his hands, trying to explain. "The shirt was stuck."

"Ah," was all Nicholas said, moving to look out the window.

Machiavelli wasn't sure if the immortal was really looking out the window or just giving him some privacy, but nonetheless he was glad the Frenchman didn't say much. He was still feeling very disoriented. "Why is there a truck in the backyard?" he asked, changing into a pair of purple shorts and a t-shirt with a motorcycle graphic on it.

"They're down there installing the appliances right now," Nicholas said, glancing furtively at the Italian and relaxing when he saw the boy was fully dressed. "And then, we have to put in the furniture."

"I forgot we were doing that today," Machiavelli said, joining Nicholas at the window. He stuck his head out the window and watched a muscled man wrestle a refrigerator through the front door of the smaller cabin.

"It has to be today," Nicholas reminded him. "The Germains are arriving this afternoon."

The Italian stood up rather suddenly and smacked his head hard against the window. He yelped and withdrew his head, rubbing at the sore spot. Backing up, he tripped over the puppy and crashed to the floor. He gave a piteous moan. "I didn't know they were coming today."

Nicholas pulled him to his feet. "What's the matter with that?" he asked in surprise. He pulled the door open, hearing a firm knock. Scathach came into the room.

"I heard a loud crash. What are you two doing, boxing?" She put her hands on her hips.

Nicholas glanced at her. "Niccolo just had a bit of a fall." He paused. "After I told him the Germains were coming today. I think he's a bit shy," he whispered to the Shadow.

"I can hear you," Machiavelli protested firmly. "I just don't think they'll like me," he admitted to the two adults. "It was only a couple of months ago that we were on opposite sides."

Nicholas thought about that for a moment. "We were on opposite sides not too long ago. Now I think that we have the potential to be great friends."

"Well that's true," Machiavelli agreed hesitantly.

"We hated each other for centuries," Scathach called, settling on the Italian's bed. "But we've gotten over it. I even forgave you for pushing me through that door," she said cheerfully.

Machiavelli nodded, sitting beside her on the bed. "Yes, you have a point. I do apologize for... wait a minute, you pushed me through the door!" he yelped.

Scathach laughed. "I was just testing you." She poked him in the stomach. "Francis and Joan aren't going to hate you. Nicholas told us all how important you and Billy both were to saving the people in San Francisco. That's got to count for something.

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"That must be them," Perenelle said, watching an SUV roar towards them on the road.

"He drives like a maniac," Black Hawk said, looking up from his whittling. The Native American grinned. "I like him already."

Moments later the dirty black SUV pulled in next to Billy's Thunderbird. The Comte waved happily at the Flamels seeing them at the front porch and began to make his way up the walkway, but Joan trailed her fingers appreciatively on the red convertible.

"Francis!" Perenelle called, rushing out to meet the Frenchman.

"Madame Flamel, it is awfully good to see you so well," Germain greeted her, enveloping her in a warm hug. He pulled Nicholas into the embrace. "It's good to see you too, old man."

"Old man?" Nicholas asked, offended.

Perenelle patted the Master of Fire affectionately on the arm. "I'm going to go see Joan. I haven't seen either of you in so long." Scathach followed her over to where the young woman was standing.

Germain pulled Nicholas in the direction of the cabin. "So where is he?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Is he still stuck in a kid's body?"

"Billy and Niccolo just went to take a walk; they'll be back soon. And yes, the change is still in effect," Nicholas answered. "I wanted to talk to you before they get back. Machiavelli is very nervous about meeting you."

Germain furrowed his forehead. "Why? Surely he doesn't think we're going to attack him?" He snapped his fingers, sparks of fire coming off his fingertips. Realization dawned on his expression. "Oh!"

Nicholas smiled softly, but didn't say anything else on the topic. "Here, I want you to meet someone. This is Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, but I think he prefers to be called Black Hawk."

Black Hawk shook the man's hand. "I do prefer it," he agreed. "Good to meet you."

"Nice to meet you. Here's my wife," Germain said, drawing her close to him.

Black Hawk bowed slightly to her. "If you're wondering where Billy and the Italian is, they're just coming back now." He pointed. "Here, I'm going to take your bags over to the other cabin."

"Do you need any help?" Germain called.

Black Hawk turned around. "I guess I could use some help from somebody big and strong and muscled." He turned to Scathach. "Here, you take this." The two immortals disappeared into the cabin. Those that were left on the porch could hear the two of them bickering.

Joan turned around. "Is that them?" she asked in French. They watched as the two immortals came into view. Billy waved in greeting, but Machiavelli hid slightly behind the American when it became clear that their guests had arrived. Billy looked down and wrapped an arm around the Italian's shoulders.

"Howdy," he said happily. He wiped his hand on his jeans and shook hands with both of them.

"Hello," Joan said, venturing forward. "Perenelle told me that's your Thunderbird over there."

"Yeah. You like it?" Billy grinned. "Did she tell you too that she stole it from me?"

Francis settled with Nicholas on the swing, watching the interaction with some interest. Joan looked over at the older Frenchwoman. "She did." Perenelle smiled blithely, settling in between the two Frenchmen. "I love old cars," Joan explained. "You're lucky yours came out fine. My Citroen was totally destroyed in Paris."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that." He turned to Machiavelli. "Wasn't that kind of your fault?"

Machiavelli peeked out from behind the American and ducked back behind him. "Nice to meet you again. Sorry about your car," he mumbled shyly.

"It's alright," Joan said. She tugged the boy out from behind the American. Machiavelli came out from behind Billy, but settled up against him. "You're awfully cute," she said, trying to put the boy at ease.

"Thank you," Machiavelli said awkwardly. He smiled nervously.

Germain clapped his hands together. "We brought something for you. As we're going to be friends now."

Machiavelli started to object, but closed his mouth again. He knew that the Comte came from a time similar to his, back when gift giving was seen as an art form. "Thank you," he said again, accepting the parcel from the Frenchman. He looked up again. "Are these-?"

"Paintball guns," Francis puffed out happily. "It seemed like something that both of you would enjoy." He indicated both Billy and Machiavelli.

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"Are you sure that this Billy won't mind what Germain's doing?" Joan asked the Flamels. The three immortals ducked as a balled up pair of socks flew through the air and landed in the sink.

"Trust me," Perenelle patted the young woman's hand, "we're quite sure."

"Besides, he's out there in this mess right now, isn't he?" Nicholas queried, finishing the rest of the thought.

"Well if you're sure..." Joan trailed off looking at the war zone around them. The coffee table and side tables were turned on their sides, building a makeshift fortress. Currently, Germain, Black Hawk, Scathach, Machiavelli and Billy were holed up somewhere in the cabin, although precisely where they were, none of them were sure. She shook her head. "I can't believe he tore up somebody else's house the first night we got here."

Nicholas was about to say something but got cut off by the outlaw, who leaned over the balcony, shouted "die, you scurvy swine!", and threw a stack of underwear over the balcony baluster. Black Hawk got a face full. Nicholas closed his mouth again.

Joan looked up in wonderment. "Oh, yeah, he's just Francis's type."

Scathach scurried across the living room, covering her head with one of the cushions from the couch. She lunged towards the table and ended up sitting in Nicholas's lap before correcting her mistake and moving into the chair next to the Frenchman. Without commenting on what had just happened, she began to question Joan. "So how do you like them?"

The petite woman smiled. "Neither of them are as expected. Especially Machiavelli. I never thought he'd be this shy."

"He's not normally," Nicholas said leaning in. He checked the progress of the battle before them and quietly explained how afraid Machiavelli was of how they would feel towards him.

"I don't think we have to worry about the boy anymore," Perenelle said thoughtfully.

"Why?" her husband asked, surprised.

Perenelle pointed. Machiavelli had pinned Germain to the ground. The Comte was laughing hysterically. The elegant woman covered her mouth. "I think," she said softly, "I think they've become friends."

"This is sickeningly cute," Scathach mumbled. She checked her watch. "Billy! It's past midnight."

Billy poked his head out. "Oh, that's true." He snapped his fingers at the Italian. "Time for bed, Mac." Machiavelli reluctantly came out from beneath the armchair. "I'll be up in a minute. I just want to put the room in some semblance of order."

"Night, squirt," Scathach called, punching him on the shoulder. Similarly, Black Hawk clapped him on the back before heading for the other cabin.

"I'll help you clean up," Germain called. He rolled his sleeves up an let his aura flare. The scent of burnt leaves filled the room. Furniture began jumping back into place.

"Wish we had you here the past couple of days," Billy said, watching the man work with clear admiration.

"Cool, huh. I think I was the original inspiration for La Belle et la Bête."

"Show off," Joan chided, rubbing her husband's shoulders. The young woman stopped the Italian before he started up the stairs. "Goodnight," she told him, kissing him on the nose. The Italian blushed slightly and stammered a 'buonanotte' before climbing the rest of the way up.


	41. Chapter 41

Machiavelli pushed into Billy's room later that night, not bothering to knock. "Hey, Billy, I... Billy?"

With the low lighting of the hallway behind him, Machiavelli could just make out Billy lying in bed, in a rather, ah, compromising position. At the sound of the Italian's voice, however, Billy shot up and grabbed the pillow behind him, throwing it in his lap. "Mac?" Billy's voice sounded a few degrees huskier than it normally did. He cleared his throat and raked a hand across the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. "What's- what's up?" he groaned.

Machiavelli had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from smiling. "I just- no, you know what, it can wait. I'll wait. I'll go back to my room." He couldn't help myself and turned back for a moment. "It looks like you were almost done anyways."

"I wasn't doing anything!"

This time the Italian did laugh. "I'm still a grown man. I know what you were doing. And seeing as it is the first night in a couple of weeks that you've had the room to yourself, I guess I should have expected this..."

Billy motioned towards the door. "I can't have this conversation with you when you look like that. Go to your room! I'll be there in a minute!" He slumped backwards on the bed and the Italian thought it wise to leave promptly.

A minute later, Billy came into the boy's room, fully dressed. Machiavelli instantly noticed that the American wasn't looking him into the eye and there was a definite pinkness to his face. "I didn't figure you to be a blusher, Billy," he jibed amicably.

Billy's flush deepened, if anything. "Yeah, well, I didn't figure on you coming in at this hour." He sat on the edge of Machiavelli's bed but stood up just as quickly as if he had been scalded. "What'd you need, Niccolo?"

Machiavelli smiled at the rare usage of his first name, but blushed a little himself now. "I've been waiting for you to tuck me..." He shrugged somewhat helplessly. "I was wondering if I could give you a kiss."

The American sat on the edge of the bed. "Oh, yeah Mac. I just got to talking down there for so long and I thought you'd asleep by now."

Machiavelli shrugged shyly. He wrapped his arm around Billy's shoulder and paused a moment before tenderly kissing the outlaw's temple. "Goodnight Billy," he whispered.

Billy helped him lie back. "Night, Mac. I'm sorry I forgot about you."

"It's okay. Now you can go back to what you were doing," Machiavelli giggled. He heard Billy moan miserably before the American turned off the light entirely.

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Machiavelli came down the next morning to find the kitchen table completely full. He yawned. "I see space at the table is prime real estate today," he quipped.

"Here, kid," Scathach said. "We could probably push over a little."

"That's okay. I'll just sit here." The Italian settled onto Billy's lap before the outlaw could object.

"Um, Mac, I-"

"Did you have a good night's sleep?" Machiavelli asked him happily. "Cause you seem a little bit grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy."

Scathach studied Billy. "You do seem a bit crotchety," she said, grinning wickedly.

"I don't know why he'd be grumpy," Black Hawk called from his place by Germain. "We finally have our own bedrooms, again."

"I don't want to talk about it," Billy mumbled. His ears turned slightly pink. "What are we doing today?" he asked, changing the topic.

"Are we going paintballing today?" the Italian asked excitedly. He leaned forward to look at the Fire Master, pushing down on Billy's knees.

"No, not today, I'm afraid," Francis said. He winked at the boy. "I have a plan."

"His big plan is to put you guys in a hot air balloon," Joan explained.

Perenelle leaned towards Scathach. "I know you don't like being up in the air, so you and I are going elsewhere." She touched the Warrior's hand lightly.

"This was excellent, Perenelle," Germain said, not paying attention. He pushed back from the table. "Of course, we wouldn't want you doing anything you don't want to do," the Frenchman agreed. "Black Hawk's going to drive beneath us and pick us up in the end. You could go with him."

Billy tapped the table with his spoon, banging out a syncopated tune. "I like balloon rides," he said.

"As do I," Nicholas agreed.

They all looked over at Machiavelli. The Italian had dug into Billy's bowl of cereal and wasn't really paying attention, only looking up when he noticed the conversation had lulled. "I've never been in a balloon before," he admitted through a mouthful of cereal. "But I think it'll be fine."

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"Is that really a hot air balloon?" Machiavelli asked, looking up at Joan. "It looks like a castle."

"It is a castle," Joan replied. "Francis tends to go over the top. When he found an air balloon in the shape of the Chateau d'Azay-Le-Rideau, he had to buy it. Cover your ears now, he's going to start blowing it up," she said, motioning to the noise cancelling headphones around his neck.

"Okay." Machiavelli snapped them in place. He watched as Francis and Nicholas set up a gas powered fan, the balloon slowly inflating before them. The noise was incredible- even with the headphones, the Italian could hear the roar of the fan. Right before the balloon was fully blown up, the two Frenchmen turned off the fan and Germain began shooting flames into the balloon.

Machiavelli felt a sharp jab in the shoulders. 'Time to get in,' Billy mouthed to the Italian. 'Take off the headphones,' he motioned. Fear blossomed in Machiavelli's chest for the first time.

"Don't worry, Mac," Billy soothed. "It's a little scary the first time you go up, but then it's a lot of fun." He swung the young tactician into the basket of the balloon and gave Joan a hand getting in. Finally, he pulled himself over the edge.

"All in?" Germain asked. "Good. Let's go then." The flame in his hand leaped higher, crackling merrily. Machiavelli gasped as the balloon began to rise. He felt a swooping sensation, watching the ground slip away from them.

"Scared?" Nicholas asked. He nudged the boy.

"A bit," Machiavelli admitted. He glanced behind him at Germain, who was setting up the propane burner. "But don't tell anybody," he whispered. "I'll get used to it."

Joan overheard them talking. "The trick is to not look down if you're frightened. Look over there," she pointed, "see the trees? Focus on them."

Germain had finished setting up the flame. He reached up and turned the flame low so that they maintained their height. "Did you know, the first air balloons to be successfully flown were launched from Paris in 1783. I was on one of the first rides; that was truly terrifying." He smiled kindly at Machiavelli. "I assure you, my friend, we are quite safe. But should you feel scared, we can always go lower."

"Or stop altogether," Billy chimed in, looking down at the rolling fields below them.

"Or stop," Germain agreed.

Machiavelli leaned over the railing, keeping a hand on Billy's arm. "I'm okay now," he assured the others. "You like flying, huh?" he asked Nicholas, noting the new animation in the man's expression.

"I love flying," Nicholas corrected. "It's one of my favorite things to do. I didn't think I'd get to experience it so soon though," he said, smiling brightly.

Germain was delighted. "I remembered you liked it," he told his old master.

The Italian looked over at Billy. "And you've been up in an air balloon?"

Billy nodded, wrapping an arm around Machiavelli. "My first time up in one was in 1903. Black Hawk went with me."

"Was it fun?" Joan asked.

"I loved it, but Black Hawk ended up throwing up over the edge. He hasn't tried again since."

Machiavelli laughed. He felt better knowing the burly Native American didn't like the ride much either. The wind blew in his face and he smiled; things weren't really that bad up here.


	42. Chapter 42

"That's weird behavior," Machiavelli commented, watching Billy the Pup walk around with Georgette stretched out on his back.

Billy looked up and shrugged. He stretched out his lanky legs on the coffee table. "I don't think he minds. The Pup's getting bigger." They both watched as the puppy flopped over in front of the fireplace. Georgette began grooming the puppy; the husky tried to pull away, but the tabby grabbed him in what could only be called a feline choke hold.

"Strange," Machiavelli echoed, shaking his head.

"I've seen cats do stuff like this before." Billy looked over his shoulder as the backdoor slammed. "Hey, Germain. We got you some danish; it's on the counter."

The Italian twisted around to watch the Fire Master as he grabbed several pastries. "Have you ever seen a cat ride a dog like a horse?" He jerked his head at the pair by the fireplace.

"No," Germain admitted. Machiavelli stuck his tongue out at Billy. "But then I've never had pets before. I move too much," he finished with a happy smile. He bit into the pastry. Flakes flew. Billy turned on the TV.

"We should go horse riding again," Machiavelli said suddenly. He pointed to their pets. "Like Georgette and Billy."

"We could," Billy agreed. "If our guests want to."

"Of course," Machiavelli agreed. He looked at Germain through his long lashes. "Do you like riding horses?" he whispered.

Germain chuckled. "Oh my, yes. I was there in 1519 when the Spanish reintroduced horses to the Americas."

"Were you?" Billy asked. He thumped Germain on the back. "I got my first job cause of you."

"Cowboy?"

"Horse thief."

The two men stared at each other. Germain began to chuckle. "Fair enough. I wasn't always an honest man either. He turned to the Italian. "In answer to your question, I would love to go riding. I'm sure Joan will agree, but you can go ask her, just to be sure."

"Okay," the Italian agreed. He slipped off the couch and pounded out the back door. The screen door slammed behind him, but he stopped, the bright sunlight of the outside world disorienting him.

"Hey, kid!" He looked to his left and grinned. Scathach and Joan were frantically waving to him from the hammock.

He ran up to them. "Can we go horseback riding?" He backpedaled. "Billy says we can as long as you want to go. So can we go?"

Joan smiled down at him. "I would like that." She tugged at Scathach's hand. "It'll be like old times.

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"This reminds me of when Mac and I went to an amusement park," Billy told Scathach. "I put him," he jerked his head at the Italian, "on a carousel. Every time he came around he'd wave to me."

"He's not waving now," Scathach said, watching Machiavelli walk around the paddock. The Italian was a lot calmer than he had been last time, but was still gripping the reins firmly.

"Ah, he waves with his eyes," Billy said dismissively. He stepped onto the bottom rung of the fence. "I really wish I was taller sometimes."

"So do I," Scathach agreed. She leaned on the fence beside the American. "So why's Joan riding there beside him and not you?"

"Joan offered," Billy said. "And Mac likes her a lot."

"Joan's a good teacher." Scathach briefly watched the two riders in the paddock. "Why don't you ride a horse? Machiavelli is in good hands. And I know you like to ride."

Billy cocked his head. "I might." He waved to the two riders. "Mac? I'm going to ride a little bit. Do you mind?"

Machiavelli paused, tightening the reins in his hand slightly. He cocked his head. "I guess so. You'll be back soon?"

"Of course."

"Okay," the Italian muttered. He waved his hand slightly.

Billy reached out to touch the Italian, but couldn't quite reach. He touched his lips thoughtfully. "I'll be back soon!" He ran up the hill towards the bigger pasture and waved to Black Hawk.

The Native American rode over and dismounted, handing the reins to Billy. "You're going to ride for once?"

"Yeah," Billy whooped. He swung onto the big bay horse and smacked the animal's neck affectionately. "Ready to ride for real?" he asked the horse. He spurred the horse in a quick trot before completely opening up. He let the horse gallop with no particular direction in mind, enjoying the feeling of wind blowing sharp against his lithe body. He let out a wild cheer.

The outlaw could feel the muscles of the horse beneath his legs. They rippled with each burst of energy the horse put forward. The outlaw rode for a while at the quick speed before he let the horse slow to a canter. He turned the horse around and headed back for Black Hawk.

Black Hawk smiled. "You've still got it," he acknowledged.

"Of course," Billy replied. He slid off of the horse and handed the reins back to the muscled man. "I've always loved riding horses."

"And stealing them," Black Hawk retorted.

"Nah, I don't do that anymore," Billy said, ducking his head. "I'm an honest man now, through and through." He thumped his chest and lifted his chin at the other man, defying him to say differently.

But Black Hawk said nothing of the sort. Instead he pointed down to the little corral. "While you were off galavanting, your kid has rode around the perimeter of that paddock a dozen times."

"Oh yeah," Billy said excitedly. "How's he doing?"

"Seems fine. Why don't you go see him, let me go back to riding." Black Hawk sounded bored, but Billy didn't notice. He was already running back to where Scathach was watching the Italian's progress. He slid down the incline and hit the fence next to the Shadow with a soft thud.

"How is he?" Billy asked Scathach, straightening his hips out. She motioned with her hand at the boy who was approaching them, Joan in tow.

"I think I'm getting it, Billy!" Machiavelli hollered as he passed the American.

Billy whooped and climbed up the fence, balancing at the top on the fence post. "You're doing great," he called as the Italian went around the paddock again.

Joan pulled off to the side and dismounted. She headed in their direction, leading the horse behind her. "He wanted to go around once more. I'm a bit tired though." She leaned against the fence. "Where's Francis?"

"Oh, he's over there," Billy drawled, pointing towards the barn. "If you can believe it, he and Nicholas are fencing."

"I can believe it," Joan said. They looked over in the direction of the barn where the two Frenchmen were mock sparring. Nicholas had pinned Germain to the side of the barn, but with a quick twist of his wrist, Germain pushed him backwards. "He reminds me of Inigo Montoya," Joan said laughing. "I can't believe I married him."

"Hey, who wouldn't want to marry Mandy Patinkin?" Scathach said, laughing slightly herself.

Billy twisted around to look at the two women. "Inigo Montoya is what women look for in a man?" the American asked with some interest.

"Oh, yeah. Gorgeous, long hair-"

"-a charming accent-"

"-and good with his hands," Scathach called out enthusiastically.

Billy frowned. "By your definition, I'm the lowest of the low."

"Oh no, Billy, you're just a different type of handsome," Scathach told him, but Billy wasn't listening. The American had sat up ramrod straight before swinging his leg over the rail and dropping into the paddock. He took off running.

The two women looked in the direction that Billy was running and immediately sprung into action. The horse that Machiavelli had been riding on was now galloping towards the far end of the paddock. The Italian was lying on the ground.


	43. Chapter 43

AN: I welcome any comments or suggestions you feel are appropriate. I hope everyone is still enjoying the story.

* * *

Joan jumped on her own horse and rushed off to the far end of the paddock to calm the horse down.

Billy skidded to a stop by Machiavelli. His face loomed over his, the American's countenance white and ashen. "Mac?"

"I'm okay," Machiavelli mumbled dazedly. He made a motion with his hand, but didn't open his eyes. "The horse got spooked, I think, by a bag in the wind..." He trailed off. Scathach sighed and patted him on the knee. She got up, heading in the direction of the Frenchwoman and the nervous horse.

"Mac, are you sure you're all right?" Billy was still worried. There was sensation of guilt making its way down into the pit of the American's stomach, making him feel that he could have prevented this somehow.

Machiavelli opened his eyes a crack. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Why? Cause that was the scariest thing I ever saw!" Billy yelped.

"It was pretty scary being on the horse too," the boy told him. Machiavelli raised himself off the ground and looked over in the corner of the paddock where Scathach and Joan were calming the horse down. "I don't think I want to ride the horse anymore today, Billy."

"That's fine," Billy agreed immediately. Both immortals looked up as Germain ran towards them.

"Saw it from the barn," the Frenchman wheezed. "Are you alright, dear boy?" Behind Germain, Nicholas ran up, leaning heavily on his knees as he came to a halt.

"I'm okay," Machiavelli mumbled, growing embarrassed from the attention he was receiving. He looked over at Billy again, focusing on his clear blue eyes. He tried a joke. "What do you think, doc? Will I ever play the piano again?"

"I said that," Billy muttered.

"Doesn't seem so funny now, does it?" Machiavelli asked attempting to get to his feet. His legs were shaking badly from fright and nearly collapsed underneath him, before the Frenchman grabbed him under the armpits.

Billy took one look at the boy and took pity on him. He collected the Italian in his arms and still managed, somehow, to swing himself over the paddock fence. "Come on Mac, we'll bring you home." The trio of adults headed in the direction of Billy's Thunderbird. Machiavelli was quite happy to let Billy carry him to the car until he saw the women coming towards them and then he struggled to the ground.

"I'm feeling better," he said to the men and ran in front of them to get in the car.

"Well, he's walking again at least," Nicholas muttered to Billy as he climbed into the Jeep with Scathach and Black Hawk.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Billy," Machiavelli called sleepily from the backseat of the convertible. "Do you know how to play the piano? Or were you just joking?"

"I was joking at the time, but yeah, I play the piano a bit," the American conceded. He looked at his Italian friend through the rear view mirror. "But there's no piano in the cabin for me to prove it, so you're just going to have to take my word."

"We should get you a piano," Germain said, settling beside Machiavelli.

The Italian nodded in agreement. "Then you could play for us!"

Beside him, Germain tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How quickly do you think we could get a piano sent to us?" he asked his wife as she slid into the passenger's side of the front seat.

"I really don't know, Francis."

"Don't get your hopes up, anyways," Billy said from the front seat. He stepped heavily on the accelerator and pulled out of his parking spot. "I'm nothing special, I play a lot of rock songs."

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After the excitement of the horse riding incident, the immortals were more than happy to stay in the cabin and relax for the rest of the afternoon and night, but this decision was ultimately taken out of their hands at any rate by the mass of thunderclouds rolling across the sky. By nightfall, a cool breeze had stirred up.

Nicholas sat by the window, frowning as streaks of lightning cracked the sky. He turned to the other three men and cut the cards placed in front of him before passing them to the Frenchman at his left. "What are we playing?"

"Five card monte," Billy answered happily from across him.

Black Hawk groaned. "Want to fill in for me?" he asked Perenelle who sat closest to him in the arm chair.

Perenelle smiled, but shook her head. She never lifted her eyes from cross-stitching. "Not particularly, no."

"Quit bellyaching, you'll have fun."

"Why do you always want to play monte? Are you trying to scam us out of our money?"

Billy seemed vaguely insulted by this accusation. "Excuse me, three card monte is a scam game, five card monte is an art form."

"I've never seen a lightning storm when it wasn't raining," Germain broke in, deftly changing the topic. He began to deal the cards.

"It's fairly common in this area of the country," Billy commented, organizing his cards. "Of course, dry lightning storms are more dangerous because the risk of fires is more prevalent. But you would know that already." Germain dipped his head slightly in agreement. There was a moment of silence as the card players focused on their own hands.

"We can play a different game after this one," Nicholas commented to Black Hawk.

The Native American grunted. "How about poker?" the muscled man asked, discarding. He swore slightly when the gate was turned over. "Did you ever play poker?" he called to Machiavelli, poking the Italian on the back of the head.

Machiavelli looked up from the 3D puzzle he was fitting together. "No, I've never been one to gamble."

"That's too bad," Black Hawk muttered. "You were born with a poker face attached."

Somehow, Machiavelli ended up feeling both complimented and insulted. The Native American seemed to hover in between times of wisdom and times of arrogance. He looked up when the back door slammed shut and watched Scathach and Joan come into the cabin. He was surprised when they sat beside him on the couch; he'd thought the Shadow at least would be more interested in the card game going on behind him than in him. The Italian cast around for a topic. "Did you know that jigsaw puzzles were originally just maps cut up by parents trying to amuse their children?"

"I didn't know that," Joan admitted. She paused a moment. "Did you create jigsaw puzzles for your children?"

Machiavelli shook his head. "Puzzles like these weren't created until the 18th century, nearly two hundred years after my children lived."

"How many kids did you have?" Scathach wondered out loud.

"Six," Billy answered for Machiavelli. He noticed the boy looking over at him in surprise. "Sorry. It was in that book I read." He tossed his cards on the table. "I win." The three other men tossed their cards into the center. None of them seemed surprised that the American had won.

Black Hawk stood up. "I'm going to get a beer and then we're going to play a real game. Anybody else want one?" Scathach nodded, as did Nicholas after a moment's pause. "What about you Billy?"

"You know that I don't drink," Billy said. "Never have."

"I had two daughters and four sons," the Italian told Joan, warming to the subject. "I was particularly fond of my baby Guido, despite what my wife believed. I wrote to my children whenever I went out on business trips. It eased the guilt I felt for leaving them so often and for so long."

"It's really strange talking to you about having children when you look so young yourself," Germain broke in. He tossed a couple of logs into the fire and ignited them. The Italian immortal noticed that the Fire Master seemed particularly fond of purple flames.

Machiavelli wanted to continue to tell the two women about his children, but another thought had intruded upon him and was taking up residence in the front rooms of his mind. "Could I have the beer that you're not going to have?" he asked Billy hopefully.

Billy looked up. "No," he said, sounding exasperated.

"Oh why not, Billy? He's over five hundred years old," Black Hawk called. The muscled immortal grinned at Machiavelli.

"Absolutely not."

"Well it was worth a try," Machiavelli sighed. He put down the finished puzzle.

Germain looked up. "This sounds more like it should," he said, nodding. "Although you never struck me as a beer person," he told the Italian.

"I never was," Machiavelli agreed. He frowned, tiny creases forming on his forehead. "I don't know why I want a beer now."

"Hormones?" Joan suggested, drawing her legs up beneath her.

"Or just typical male stupidity," Scathach interjected, accepting her drink from the Native American. Machiavelli stuck his tongue out at her. "Ooh, mature."

"Add this to your puzzle facts," Machiavelli said to the Frenchwoman, circling back to their earlier conversation. "Jigsaw puzzles were actually very popular during the Great Depression even though they were nonessential. They were relatively cheap, reusable, and kept people occupied for hours. They distracted people from how hungry or tired they were."

"Well that's one thing we really don't have to worry about," Germain said cheerfully. "Ready to play poker?"


	44. Chapter 44

Germain stopped into the living room the next morning, making note of his surroundings. Billy was stretched out on the couch, buried in a book. As the outlaw flipped the page, Germain saw that it was A Study in Scarlet. He smiled slightly. The American looked like he was intricately entangled in his book and Germain didn't want to be the one to interrupt him, but thought he'd better tell the man that they were leaving. "I'm glad the storm stopped," he observed.

Billy tore his gaze from his book. "I like storms. I like the noise. I just wish the yard wasn't a mess, " Billy mumbled the last part. He gestured wildly before returning his attention to his book. "Sticks everywhere. It looks like we cut down a forest out there."

"Sure does," the Fire Master commented. He doubled back to look at the young American immortal. "Do you want help picking up?"

Billy shook his head. "I've got help, don't worry. Where are you and the Flamels going anyways? Have you decided yet?"

"Sight seeing. Are you sure you don't want to go? We're going to see the quainter side of America," Germain said, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

Billy looked up again. "If you find it, you let me know what it looks like. Mac and I are going to clean up the yard, I think."

"What am I going to do?" the Italian asked, tromping down the stairs.

"We've got a bunch of sticks in the yard. I figure we'll spend the morning picking them up." Billy smiled at Machiavelli.

The Italian was unmoved by his charm, turning to look out the window. He turned to the Frenchman. "Where are you going?"

"Well, Black Hawk left early this morning to pick up some supplies or something of that nature... and we're going into town to do some exploring since we haven't actually looked around yet. I think the girls want to go shopping?" Germain clapped Billy on the back and maneuvered the Italian out onto the porch. "I'm going to look into buying that piano you want. Can you keep The Kid occupied for the day?"

Machiavelli nodded. He leaned in to the Frenchman, speaking softly. "While you're in town, could you pick something else up for me?" He continued without waiting. "There's a candy shop downtown. Can you buy some horehound candy?"

"Horehound candy?" Germain scratched his head. "Sure," he agreed affably.

Billy knocked at the edge of the door frame. He settled his arm on Machiavelli's shoulder, noting that the Italian had shot up considerably in the last week, the top of his head now hovering around Billy's chest. "If you want to go, Mac, I can clean up here by myself."

"No, I want to be with you," Machiavelli said, touching Billy's hand with his own. He looked away quickly. They both waved to Germain as the Frenchman climbed into his SUV and drove off.

"Now about the sticks..." Billy trailed off as the scent of serpent filled the air around them. Machiavelli held a hand out, long fingers splayed. Abruptly all the sticks in the yard rose up in one mass. Billy watched astounded as the gigantic stick monster dragged itself across their yard and fell apart in their wood pile. "What was that?"

"A tulpa," Machiavelli answered. He huffed slightly, tired but not exhausted. "You can make them out of anything. It is a bit draining to do, but not too bad this time since it was such a short distance." He clasped his hands together.

"Will you teach me how to do that sometime?" Billy asked, ducking his head shyly. Machiavelli sat beside him on the front steps, nodded.

"Sure. But not right now." They both watched as Georgette stalked along the edge of the woods. "Where's Billy?"

"Black Hawk took him for his car ride. And before you ask, I don't know where Black Hawk went." Billy glanced sideways at Machiavelli. "Now that our morning is blown wide open, what do you want to do?"

Machiavelli leaned back, looking up at the streaks of clouds in the sky. He knew that Germain wanted him to keep Billy occupied, so that meant he had to bring the American somewhere that he couldn't easily return from. "We should go on an adventure," he said slowly. "We never get time alone together anymore."

"Is that why you didn't tell me about your magic stick pickup?" Billy asked carefully. He got up. "Let's go on a hike, Mac. I know a place where you can jump into the lake from a high rock. We'll go there." He stood up decisively. "Change into your swim shorts. I'll pack a lunch."

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Machiavelli snuffled and opened his eyes. He blinked and rolled over. Somehow he'd ended up lying on the picnic blanket. "Billy?" he called. The Italian looked around.

"Hey, Mac," Billy's voice floated down from somewhere above. Machiavelli looked around, trying to locate the American. He called out again. "I'm up here, Mac," Billy said, dropping out of the tree. The outlaw landed catlike on the ground and grinned at Machiavelli somehow, around his book which was clenched between his teeth.

"Reading your book?" Machiavelli asked, keeping his face neutral. He pulled himself up and didn't wait for the American to answer. "Why'd you let me sleep?"

"Oh, well, you were tired. I figured after your tulpa stunt you'd need to recharge a bit," Billy said, sitting beside him on the blanket. He dug through the picnic basket. "And then we went on our hike... so here, have the rest of your sandwich."

"And then we'll go swimming?" Machiavelli asked around his sandwich. "Cause I'm not tired anymore."

Billy ruffled Machiavelli's hair roughly. "Sure, Niccolo. We'll get it all done." He stuck his book back in the basket. "We can go now, if you want." The Italian scrambled to his feet, helping Billy to toss the remnants of their lunch in the basket. He quickly balled up the blanket and tossed it in as well.

"Where is the rock?" Machiavelli asked, skipping beside Billy.

"Not far," Billy said. He pointed. "Actually, it right around the bend here."

"We were that close all along," Machiavelli yelped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Billy wrapped his arm around the Italian, pulling him close. "But then you wouldn't have taken your nap. And I wanted you to get some sleep." They came around an angle in the road and the boy saw the rock for the first time.

Machiavelli slowed to a crawl as he approached the edge of the rock. He carefully peeped over the edge. "We're going to jump off of this?"

"It'll be fun," Billy called. "Don't worry about it, the water is plenty deep." He was already pulling off his t-shirt.

"I don't know..." Machiavelli hesitated. He looked back at the American. "And you'll hold my hand?" Billy grinned, knowing he had won. He nodded.


	45. Chapter 45

Billy and Machiavelli trudged back to the cabin just as the sky was beginning to darken. The Italian dragged the basket behind him, letting the wicker hit the back of his legs. Finally, Billy pried the basket out of his hands and carried it for the last hundred feet. "Tired, Mac?"

"Yeah," Machiavelli's voice was thin, the boy totally worn out. While the creation of the tulpa and the hike had worn him out, the hours they had spent swimming had completely exhausted him. He had the peculiar feeling that his stomach was still floating somewhere in the lake. He shook his head, tryign to focus on Billy's voice. "What did you say?" he asked rather thickly, following Billy up the steps.

"I was just saying that I enjoyed our day. But I'm tired too." He let the Italian go in first. "Hullo," he called. He took a double take. "Since when do we have a piano? Germain?"

Germain shook his head, his eyes twinkling. "Your young Italian friend asked us to get it for you. Along with these." He tossed a bag to the outlaw.

Billy caught the bag deftly and sat with the other immortals in the living room. "What's this? Oh, horehound!" he said happily, smiling so that his prominent front teeth showed. He popped one in his mouth and offered the bag to the others. They all declined with the exception of Black Hawk. "You really shouldn't have," he told Machiavelli, drawing the boy close to him.

"I wanted to hear you play the piano," the Italian told Billy, climbing into his lap. He looked around the room. "So how was everybody's day?"

"It was excellent," Germain said immediately. He gesticulated wildly. "There's a wonderful old music shop called the Half Note. They have a great record selection in the back; I'm thinking of building m own collection up again." He would have continued, but Joan laid a hand on her husband's forearm. "Oh. Was I ramblimg again?"

"Yes," Scathach said bluntly. She unlaced the boy's shoes, letting them drop on the floor with a dull thud. Machiavelli watched her fingers work over the laces, a warm feeling spreading across him as he got progressively more tired. "Shouldn't we put him to bed?" she asked Billy.

"I'm not tired," Machaivelli said, slurring his words. "I want to stay up. Keep talking about your day," he said, his voice rising slightly. A slightly giddy chuckle escaped his lips and he melted into Billy's lap.

"We went shopping," Perenelle continued, watching Machiavelli tilt slightly to the left. Billy's arms pulled him upright again. "The three of us."

"You and the girls?"

"No, me, Joan, and Francis," Perenelle clarified, a slight smile on her face. To her right, Joan mouthed the words 'the girls.' The older Frenchwoman shook her head. "It took him forever to pick out clothes."

"Can I help it if I like to look good?"

"Scatty and I don't particularly enjoy clothes shopping, so we alked around town," Nicholas chimed in.

"When did you buy the piano?" Machiavelli asked, shifting slightly.

"Oh, I got that," Black Hawk said, surprising the Italian. Machiavelli had almost forgotten that the Native American was there.

The Italian leaned forward. "I thought you were getting supplies." He turned to Germain. "And you said you were going to pick up the piano. You tricked me!" he said, the pieces suddenly fitting together. Machiavelli blinked slowly. A grin spread across his face."You didn't trust me?" he asked admiringly.

"No, I did." Germain laughed. "But I thought I'd throw you off the trail just in case."

"Huh." Machiavelli leaned back. He looked up at the American. "Are you going to play for us now?"

Billy opened his eyes. "Sure," he agreed shyly. He kissed Machiavelli through his curls and settled the Italian next to Scathach. The Shadow slung an arm around him and pulled the blanket off of the back of the couch. Billy swung a leg over the piano bench and played a scale before smoothly changing into the beginning notes of Come Sail Away.

"You're good," Germain said with admiration, coming to stand behind the younger man. He began to hum along with Billy as the outlaw played. Billy grinned up at him and changed the tune. Germain sat with him on the bench as they belted out I've Got You Babe.

"Like I said, all rock songs," Billy said, finally after Germain dragged out the last notes.

Scathach grinned over at him, showing her pointed teeth. "Can you play Walking on Broken Glass?"

"That Annie Lennox song?" Billy asked. He flexed his fingers experimentally. "What does that start on, an F?" He looked over at Germain who nodded. "I could probably wing it. Are you going to sing?" He smiled. "Excellent."

Scathach untangled herself from Machiavelli who shifted to let her get up. Scatty's green eyes glinted with excitement. Nicholas smiled at her and let her pull him to his feet. She wrapped an arm around his back and sashayed. The Frenchman was surprisingly nimble on his feet. As the song finished, Nicholas kissed her lightly on her forehead.

They made their way through a repertoire of songs. Finally, sometime after midnight Machiavelli got to his feet. He swayed slightly. "I think I'll go to bed now," he said approaching Billy. "Will you sing me a song before I go?"

Billy looked at his reflection in the piano for a moment. He smiled softly. "I'll sing you my favorite song. It was first published in 1873..." He played a few notes experimentally before he began to sing.

_When your hair is silver white,_

_And your cheeks no longer bright,_

_With the roses of the May,_

_I will kiss your lips and say_

_Oh, my darling, mine alone, alone,_

_You have never older grown..._


	46. Chapter 46

Machiavelli woke up mid morning to a silent cabin. He wandered around the downstairs, wondering where the other immortals were. Finally, he padded back upstairs and pushed into Billy's room. He found the American sacked out in bed. He tugged the blankets up around Billy and wandered back out. The Italian paused briefly at the Flamels' room and then peeked around the door. The French couple were asleep as well, he noted, catching the way Nicholas embraced his wife even in their sleep. He smiled and closed the door as quietly as he could.

Thumping back down the stairs, he stopped in the living room to scratch Georgette behind the ears. He then grabbed Billy's leash and clipped it on. The husky yipped loudly, excited to be let out. Machiavelli froze, sure that they had woken the immortals upstairs, but after a moment there was no sound and he relaxed. "Come on," he told the dog and pushed open the screen door.

Machiavelli squinted in the early morning light. Billy the Pup tugged at his end of the leash, impatient to begin his adventure. The Italian loitered in the yard, afraid to off without Billy's permission. He smiled, hearing a door slam. Looking up, he caught eyes with Joan of Arc. "Good morning," he greeted her courteously.

"Hello, angel," she greeted, coming down the steps to walk beside the Italian. "Wondering where everybody is?" Beside her, Machiavelli nodded. "They all stayed up late last night. Francis and Billy kept playing the piano- I thought for sure they were going to wake you up. Did they?"

Machiavelli shook his head. "I was very tired yesterday." The Pup yanked on his leash, whining pitifully. Machiavelli unclipped his leash at last and the dog bounded off. The Italian looked up at Joan. "Why are you awake now?"

Joan ducked her head. "I'm afraid I hardly sleep now a days. We don't need sleep, thankfully. I get nightmares," she admitted.

"Oh," Machiavelli didn't know what to say. He was far more comfortable with discovering people's secrets through his own trickery. It made him uncomfortable that Joan would divulge such a thing with her own free will. He whistled for the dog. "Where are we going?"

"I think I'm going to walk to town," Joan said. "Want to come with me?"

"Are we going to walk there?" Machiavelli asked in surprise. "That's like a mile!"

Joan laughed. It was a pretty tinkling sound, like wedding bells. "Old age is making you lazy," she said. "When I led armies, we walked for miles a day."

Machiavelli unconsciously straightened his legs out, making it look like he was goose stepping. "You must have been popular," he mumbled. Joan only laughed more. "What are we going to do today?"

"Francis and Billy think that now that we have a piano, we should have a dance. I see another late night in our future." She nudged Machiavelli on the shoulder. "While we're in town, we can pick up supplies for a party."

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Machiavelli ducked through the immortals and found Billy dancing with Scathach by the front windows. He watched the American dip Scatty back and grinned. He leaned against the fireplace, looking around the room. The small room seemed to buzz with energy and Machiavelli was reminded of countless dances he had attended through his immortal years. "Hey," he said to Joan and Germain as they swung by.

"Having fun?" Germain questioned, as the music ended and they came to a halt. Machiavelli nodded. "Here, why don't you break in?" The Frenchman pushed Machiavelli over to where Scathach and Billy were standing.

"Can I break in?" he asked dutifully.

Scathach grinned. "Sure," she said. "He's yours." And she followed Joan and Germain as they left. Machiavelli protested mildly, then turned to face the American.

"I guess I'm your new partner."

"Come on, I'm going to teach you a new dance," Billy said happily. "It's called the jitterbug and it was popular among the young crowds in the 1920's. They didn't have it in Italy?"

"Oh, I don't know," Machiavelli whispered. "I haven't danced with anyone in about four, five hundred years. I especially wouldn't have touched some schoolboy dance."

"You should have," Billy laughed. He dragged the Italian out into the middle of the living room. He waggled his eyebrows. "It's a lot of fun. Come on, there's no thinking to it." The American wasn't lying. Not only was the dance horrendously unstructured, it didn't match the dance music that was playing at all. Billy seemed unfazed by that fact.

Machiavelli was sure they looked like a pair of fools but after a moment he didn't really care. He decided to ham it up, kicking his feet high and alternating steps. He actually squealed with delight when Billy tossed him up in the air and spun him around.

All the other immortals began to give the pair a wide berth.

Machiavelli was all out of breath by the time they stopped dancing. "I think I'm going to sit down now," he told Billy. The American agreed easily, pushing him in the direction of Scathach and Joan on the couch. "Jitterbugging is hard," he told them, squeezing in between the two young women.

"I know," Scathach agreed. "I've danced it before, but I've never watched it. It looks absolutely insane from the spectators' point of view."

"But it looks like you were having a lot of fun," Joan added

All three of them watched as Billy and Germain began to do some half-assed salsa. Machiavelli couldn't help but giggle as they watched Billy dip the Frenchman backwards. "This is positively grotesque," he commented.

As the song ended, Scathach stood up. "I think I'm going to go break up the loving spoonful over there."

"You should dance too," the Italian informed the Maid of Orleans suddenly. "We have so few women, they are very precious. Although why your husband is letting Scathach lead is beyond me..."

"How can you tell who's leading?" Joan asked. "They're moving so quickly."

"It the hands." Machiavelli pointed. "They should be the opposite of what they are now. Although, knowing what I do about Scathach, and your husband," he said, glancing her way, "maybe the hands are where they should be."

Joan laughed. "I never expected to be talking to you about dancing," she confided.

Machiavelli was surprised. "I've always liked dancing. I've spent about half of my immortal life as a patron of the arts. Although I haven't actually danced in many years."

"Why not?"

"I got used to dancing with my wife. It seemed wrong to dance without her." He glanced around the room, noting that Billy had paused over by where Black Hawk was to talk. "You probably already know that I was not a good husband. There's a lot of things I did behind my wife's back that were wrong."

Joan shrugged. She looked around the room. "I've heard you liked the presence of women in your time," she allowed.

Machiavelli laughed. "That's one way of putting it. But I never danced with them, nor did I tell them I loved them. I never promised a future with them. I'm not saying that what I did wasn't wrong..."

"No," Joan agreed. "But you've become a better person, I think." She paused. "You dance with Billy?" It was half a question, half a statement.

"Billy's infectious," the Italian replied. He smiled. "He makes me feel like I'm a new person. He makes all the old hurts fall away."

Joan frowned slightly. "Is it true that you were tortured?" she asked the boy softly, touching his cheek. "This morning when we talked, you got a look in your eye. You have nightmares about it too. I can tell."

Machiavelli straightened his shirt. "Yes," he whispered. "Only I'm not sure that Billy knows about it and I don't want him to find out if he doesn't know already."

"But I do know," Billy said from behind the Italian. The boy jumped. "I read it in that book about you." He jammed his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet slightly. "But I skipped it," he confessed. "I couldn't stand to read about it."

Joan got to her feet. "I think that I'm going to go steal my husband back now," she told the two men, patting Machiavelli on the shoulder as she left.

Machiavelli looked up at Billy. "I promise that I'll tell you about it someday but not today." He smiled gently. "I'm having a lot of fun tonight."

"I'm glad." Billy smiled so that his eyes lit up. He pulled Machiavelli to his feet. "Let's dance again. You know, my mother and I used to go to bailes before she got really sick. I loved it." He spun the Italian in a wide circle. "I love you."


	47. Chapter 47

AN: Many thanks to the reviewer who gave me the idea for this chapter. It was a lot of fun, though I confess I know almost nothing about paintballing...

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"We're going paintballing," Machiavelli said happily. He bounced next to Billy on the seat. The Jeep went around a corner, lifting the car onto two wheels. It jammed back down on the road with a shudder. "Isn't it exciting?"

"Shouldn't you be more frightened?" Scathach called from the backseat. She struggled to lean forward from where the seat belt had long since pinned her backwards. "Not of the paintballing, I mean, but the car ride."

Billy glanced back at her, twisting slightly so that he could see her as they talked. "I remember a time not too long ago when he was frightened by this driving."

"I'm sure the feeling will come back as I get older," the Italian said happily. "But right now, I don't give a damn!" He whooped as they went over a particularly large bump in the road. Billy groaned.

"Tides have turned," Black Hawk called from the driver's seat. "I never thought I'd see it, but he's acting like you and you're acting like him." He glanced over at Billy.

Billy shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just nervous with Mac being so small."

"I'm getting bigger every day!"

The outlaw looked back at Scatty. 'Help me out,' he mouthed to her. Scatty wrenched the seat belt off. "I think Billy just wants our Italian friend to be in one piece tonight." She put her hand on Black Hawk's shoulder. "Slow down or tonight, as you sleep, I will crack your walnuts."

Black Hawk slowed to a reasonable pace at once.

Scathach patted him on the back. "Good boy."

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"Why are we wearing winter hats?" Machiavelli asked, tugging on Billy's shirt sleeve. "And long sleeve shirts. I know it's colder today, but it's not that much colder." He stumbled over a tree root. Billy caught him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back up again.

"Paintballs hurt," the American explained. ''And you are going to be wearing goggles too." He handed them over and in the same movement, tugged down the tactician's sleeves. "Trust me, you'll be thankful for the cover when the others start aiming at you." He glanced behind him. "I think we're far away from them now that they won't hear us," he said to Scathach.

The Shadow looked back herself. "Sure." They all came to a halt. Scatty glanced at her team. "So you know how to play," she nodded at Billy, "but the two of you don't?" The three men acknowledged their agreement. "Okay," she looked over at the two European immortals. "We're playing a capture the flag version of the game. You win by either taking out all of your opponents or by grabbing their flag and bringing it back to our base."

Billy pointed at a squat dugout. "That's supposedly our base. I think we should move it. It's expected that we'll use the dugout."

"Shouldn't we have somebody guard the base?" Nicholas suggested from where he leaned on a tree.

Scathach flashed a grin. "Are you volunteering?"

"Well, my knees aren't what they used to be..."

Billy laughed. "You can guard our base," he traced the words with quotation marks, "but I think we should have you guard the dugout. We'll put you within sight line of the actual flag, but the trick is to make it look like our flag is somewhere else."

Machiavelli observed the three adults interact, saying nothing. He listened to Billy scheme with interest and it occurred to him that he was seeing Billy the Kid for the first time. This was the outlaw that had lived in the Wild West a hundred years ago. He caught the Shadow's eye. "What am I going to do?"

Scatty briefly touched his chin with both of her hands. "You are our tactician. I think you will accompany Billy across, guide him." Beside her, Billy grinned. "Okay, so the game is starting in two minutes. I'm going to go that way," she pointed, "the two of you will go this way. Nicholas-" She looked around. "Where's our Frenchman?"

"Up here," Nicholas called. He waved from a low branch of an old oak tree. "I thought I might see our opponents better from higher ground."

The normally unflappable Scathach gaped at him. "You can climb trees?"

"I was a boy once," Nicholas said modestly. He checked his watch. "It's time to start." Scatty hurried off to pitch their flag and go her way. Billy pulled the Italian in the opposite direction.

"How do you get somebody out in a paintball match?" Machiavelli whispered.

"Anytime, you're hit, technically, you're out of the game," Billy responded quietly, talking out of the side of his mouth. He glanced around, assessing the landscape. There was an open field slightly to the right and tree cover to the left. The American tugged him closer to the tree line. "Because this is the first time for about half of the players, we changed the rule to three hits. Gives you a little more leeway."

Machiavelli tugged the dark green hat down lower on his face. It suddenly occurred to him that against the greenery, his pale skin would stick out like a beacon. He ducked low to the ground.

Billy made a motion with his hand. Cupping his hand to the Italian's ear, he whispered quietly, harshly, "Look, our first target." He pointed downwind. Machiavelli's sharp eyes picked out Germain creeping around in the underbrush. "I want you to shoot him," Billy said. He put up a hand to stop the Italian's objections. "What do you see to our left?"

Machiavelli squinted. "Nothing."

"Wrong. Black Hawk's covering us," Billy said with grim determination hardening his face. He leaned in front of Machiavelli. "I'm going to go for him. You shoot Germain like I taught you."

"What if I miss?"

"I'll cover you and you run back and for the high ground." Billy swung to the left and suddenly began to fire. A crashing noise surprised Machiavelli, but he cleared his head and aimed for Germain. "Both eyes open," he repeated softly to himself. He leveled the gun and took careful aim. He pulled back the trigger. With a soft pop, the gun jerked back and a dark red mark appeared on Germain's coat. The Fire Master swore colorfully in French and disappeared backwards. "I got him, Billy," Machiavelli said excitedly.

Billy tugged him to the side, so that a shot from Black Hawk just barely missed the Italian. It exploded against a birch tree, a bright splash of neon green. "I got mine too," Billy said. "Now he's quite mad."

"Why? It's just a game."

"Let's just say I got him south of the border," Billy said. He squeezed out a spray of paint bullets, pushing Black Hawk back. They watched as the Native American melted into the landscape. "So, you got yours, honey? That's great." He inched forward on his stomach. "Which way did he go?"

"Germain? That way." Machiavelli pointed. "And where Germain is, I imagine Joan is close by." He looked to their right and flung out a hand. Billy didn't notice until the Italian grabbed his ankle. "Billy, look! It's Scatty. And they've pinned her down."

"Well, let's go save her," Billy said, suddenly veering off course. "Come on!" He laughed. "No sense in crawling along now, we're out in the open." He began to run, ducking from boulder to boulder. Machiavelli opened up behind him, flat footing it behind him. A hale of paintballs followed them.

Machiavelli felt a sharp tingle on his side and looking down found a bright green splatter on his sweatshirt. "He hit me," he cried indignantly. He stopped running and ducked behind a dirt mound for protection. He began to fire back at the Native American. Black Hawk was laughing until one of Machiavelli's red paintballs hit him square on the chest. Then the muscled man sobered considerably and took off running in the direction of their base. Machiavelli let him go.

"Germain's out of the game," Billy said. He pointed in the direction of the mini battle they'd been moving towards. Germain was laughing as he walked off.

Machiavelli gaped after him. "Okay, you're purple and Scatty's gray. Who's pink?"

"Germain," Billy said happily. "I'll tell you about it later. Though I'm sure Germain will want to tell it himself. Come on, Scatty's fine now. Let's go find their flag."

The European looked around the landscape. "Shouldn't the Sorceress be somewhere around here?"

"Not necessarily," Billy said. "You're assuming that she stayed behind to guard the flag like we did. But Mrs. Flamel's a pistol. I bet she's gunning for Nicholas as we speak." He pointed. "There's their flag. Do you want to cover for me while I get it, or do you want to go for it?"

"I'll go for it," Machiavelli said decisively. "You're the better shot out of the two of us." He ducked through the foliage, expecting to get hit, but nothing moved around him. He grabbed the flag and came back to Billy. "Do we win?" he asked uncertaintly.

"No," Billy shook his head. "We have to get it back to our base first. Let's go!" They took off running.

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"That was a good match," Germain said happily. He turned to the young American immortal. "How is it that you never got hit once?"

"I've got a theory," Machiavelli interrupted. The two men stopped their conversation. Billy cocked his head. "You see, Billy's so thin, he just has to turn on his side to avoid getting hit." He grinned happily.

"Well that's one theory," Billy said, moving towards the car. "I just can't believe Perenelle shot Nicholas out of his tree. That's just cold." He shook hands with the woman. "I love a good gunfight!"


	48. Chapter 48

"Hey, Mac." Machiavelli could hear Billy's voice calling to him, but it sounded far away. He turned over in his sleep and began to suck on his knuckles. It was a very nice dream he had been having. Guido was in it, grown up, smiling at him. Billy's voice intruded again. "Mac!"

The Italian sat up, suddenly awake. He jerked his hand out of his mouth and wiped the back of it on his pillow case. "What's up?" he asked.

"What were you thinking about sweetheart? You were smiling." Billy didn't wait for an answer, but sat down on the Italian's bed. "It's nearly noon," he said conversationally. "And the Germains have to leave after lunch. "So-"

"It's nearly noon?" He moaned and crawled out of bed. "Why'd you let me sleep this long?" he asked, pulling off his shorts and rooting around in his closet. "Where are my clothes?"

Billy grinned at him. "Let's see. To answer your questions: Yes, because you were tired, and here have some underwear." He tossed a pack to the preteen.

"Well, you don't have to worry too much. Between the ages of about 12 and 16, I grew very little." The Italian looked around. "It's a mess in here," Machiavelli commented. He stepped into the boxers. "What were you doing, sorting clothes?"

"I was actually. It seems like every time I turn around, you've gotten bigger." The American scooped a pile of clothes off the ground. "These are the clothes I think will still fit. Even if you don't grow much over the next few weeks, we're going to have to get you some colder weather clothing." He rubbed the stubble on his chin. Since you're getting ready, I think I'm going to go tell the others you'll be down soon."

"Wait, I'm almost done," Machiavelli called. He grabbed a shirt, pulled it over his head, and followed Billy down the stairs. The European immortal jumped as all the other immortals began to sing Happy Birthday to him. He blushed deeply. "You got me a cake," he said, looking at the table.

"Baked Alaska," Germain agreed.

Joan touched her husband's arm. "Francis looks for any excuse to add fire to the occasion." She smiled at him.

"Of course," Germain agreed. He plucked the candle shaped like an eleven off the cake and lit it with the tip of his index finger.

Machiavelli slid in next to Nicholas. "Are we having cake before lunch?"

"It would appear so," Nicholas said.

"Do you have to leave?" Machiavelli asked suddenly. The adults looked up. "I don't want you to leave. I'll miss you."

"Will you miss me, too?" Black Hawk called from the other end of the table.

Billy looked up sharply. "Why, where are you going?" He tugged Machiavelli's cake away from him and replaced it with a sandwich, but never broke eye contact with the Native American.

Black Hawk made a motion towards the French rockstar. "Germain has made me a job offer. I'm going to run security at his concerts for the rest of the season. Like we used to do."

"I'll miss you," Machiavelli said, cautiously. He was surprised by his feelings. The Native American was cavalier and caustic at times, but the Italian recognized the fun that Black Hawk brought with him.

Joan caught the Italian's troubled expression. She touched his arm lightly. "It's not goodbye forever," she said smiling at him. "Francis's tour ends in October and then we'll come see you again."

Billy swiped a bite from Machiavelli's cake. "Maybe we can go see one of your concerts."

Germain brightened. "Absolutely. I'll send you tickets." The conversation steered in the direction of music. Nicholas and Scathach got into an argument about the importance of the British invasion.

Perenelle and Joan had no apparent interest in the topic. They broke away from the group shortly before the lunch hour finished and stood on the porch, chatting rapidly in French. Machiavelli broke away from the bigger group and drifted towards the women. "Bonjour," he said, smiling at them.

"Hello, dear," Joan said. She drew him into a hug. "I'm very happy that we met each other this week. J'espère que nous pouvons être des amis de longue date."

"Moi aussi," Machiavelli agreed. He looked up as the others got up. "Oh, is it time to go already?"

"I suppose so," Joan said. "Francis and I have to be in Seattle by tonight." She kissed Machiavelli on both cheeks before moving on to say goodbye to the other immortals. The Italian flushed happily, but was surprised when St. Germain grabbed the Italian by the shoulders and kissed him as well.

"Bye," he called.

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"It's kind of sad, the Germains being gone," Machiavelli said that night. He came into Billy's room and leaned on the door frame.

The outlaw glanced up. "I know. But they'll come back again. Germain's tour finishes up at the end of the year." He waved the Italian in. Machiavelli straightened out his long legs and strode into the room. It occurred to him that he hadn't ever really looked at Billy's bedroom before. There was a surprising number of books on the side tables, though a space had been cleared for a picture of Billy's mother. "You know, Mac, I never really thought about this before, but Phantom of the Opera is rather frightening," Billy commented, thumbing through his copy of the book.

"You never thought it was frightening before?" Machiavelli asked somewhat incredulously. He thought a moment, before asking suspiciously, "Have you read it before?"

"No," Billy admitted without a trace of shame. "But I love the music. So I should like the book. I think I'm going to read it next."

The Italian climbed onto the bed beside the American. "What about your Sherlock Holmes book? Aren't you going to finish that?"

Billy looked up. "Oh, I finished that the other night. I need very little sleep," he explained, seeing the other immortal's dubious look. He glanced down. "Say, Mac, did you know you're starting to get hair on your legs again?"

Machiavelli slid his legs under the blankets quickly. "Yes, I'm aware," he snapped.

Billy thought for a moment, then his whole face lit up. "You're going through puberty," he laughed and slung an arm around the Italian's shoulders. "My baby boy's growing up," he said, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

The Italian roughly pushed Billy's arm off his shoulders. "Oh, shut up," he said in a low voice, scrunching down in the bed.

Billy cocked his head. He seemed to be doing some calculation. "That means... that means in about a week or two, you're going to start getting bitchy, what with hormones and all..." He tossed the book on the night table. "Then you'll be even more frightening than my book," he concluded happily.

The Italian moaned unhappily. "I don't want to go through puberty again. I didn't like it the first time."

"Necessary evil, I'm afraid." Billy grinned at him, his blues eyes twinkling. "Unless you wish to be remembered for the little prince, instead of The Prince."

"Merda!" Machiavelli swore. He sat up in horror. "No, no, no... How could you do that to me?" He slipped off the American's bed and began to pace back and forth. Billy smiled broadly but began to apologize, even catching the boy's hand. Reluctantly, the Italian sat back down.

"I'm sorry, Mac," Billy repeated. "But it's a valid point. And it will be over soon," he swore. He began to rub the boy's back before kissing the back of his hair. "We've got to give you a haircut, sweetheart."

"I'd like a haircut," Machiavelli acknowledged. He looked back at Billy. "Are you going to tuck me in?" he asked.

"Of course." Billy rolled out of the bed and onto the floor. He smacked the ground lightly and came bouncing to his feet. "Listen, Mac, I'll do my level best not to make fun of you. You just might have to remind me from time to time."


	49. Chapter 49

AN: I imagine the updates to this story will slow down a bit now, as I'm off to college again in a couple of days. I will continue to update it, I promise, but I beg your patience. Please continue to review as it lets me know how I'm doing.

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"Billy? What do you keep in the shed by the woods?" Machiavelli asked. He was milling around. Life seemed somewhat duller without the Germains there to introduce something new everyday. But then he supposed everyday couldn't be extraordinary otherwise they'd run out of things to do incredibly quickly.

Billy half turned from where he was standing at the sink doing the dishes. "It's just my workroom. I put together the Thunderbird in there."

"Could we put together a car?" Machiavelli asked suddenly. He leaned against the counter, looking at Billy's face so that he could gauge the outlaw's reaction.

Billy pulled the plug to the sink. "Huh," he said. The American turned around. "Yeah, I suppose we could. May in a couple of weeks so that then you can drive your car when it's done."

"Me, drive the car?" Machiavelli frowned. "I'm no good at driving."

"That's true, he isn't," Nicholas confirmed. The Italian tossed a sponge at the older Alchemist. Nicholas ducked the sponge rather easily.

"How bad could it be?" Billy wondered out loud. He moved some of the dishes onto the drying rack. Behind his back, Machiavelli gave Nicholas a death glare, willing the man not to say anything. Thankfully, the Frenchman decided to keep mum. "Anyways, Mac, I just keep it locked so that kids don't get into it. If you want to explore in there, take my keys." He pulled out his key ring and held them out.

Machiavelli hesitated only a moment before he snagged the keys from him. "Are you going to come with me?"

Billy shook his head. "In a little while, but I want to get soem chores done. Things here have been piling up the past week or so. The laundry, for instance." He gestured in the direction of the washing machine. Clothing was piled up, obstructing most of the machine from view.

"Maybe Scatty will look with you," Nicholas suggested.

"Where is our resident vampire?" Billly asked from the hallway.

Nicholas coughed. "She's upstairs with Perenelle, packing up our things."

Machiavelli dropped the keys. They fell to the ground with a loud clatter. "You're leaving too?" He crowded the Frenchman. "Don't go."

"We're not leaving, mon ami," Nicholas said, surprise coloring his accent. "I didn't mean to give you that impression. We're just moving into the cabin with Scathach now that the others have left her alone our there."

"Oh, good." Machiavelli was relieved. As much as he loved the alone time he got with the American, he adored the feeling of having a large family again. "I'm going to see if Scatty will come out with me," he told them, heading for the stairs.

"Tie up the Pup if you go in there!" Billy called after him. "I don't want him getting into everything."

"Okay," Machiavelli said, coming back down. He was lugging a suitcase behind him. "Scatty and Perenelle are going to come out with me as soon as we got all the stuff moved."

"This is the last of it," Scatty said. She was toting three suitcases in one hand in the way that some people might carry three pieces of paper.

Perenelle followed the procession. "I offered to carry something," she defended herself. "They wouldn't let me."

"Scatty likes doing that kind of thing," Nicholas said, going back to his crossword. "She's my tough girl." Perenelle patted her husband's shoulder and left them with a smile.

"You really love Scatty, don't you?" Billy observed. He began sorting the laundry into piles of colored and whites.

Nicholas looked up. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Strange, isn't it? She's older than all of us combined, but I think of her as a daughter."

Billy began tossing the colored clothing in the washing machine. 'She needs some parents looking out for her. Her own failed her."

Nicholas nodded. "I think so too. Perenelle always liked Joan best, but Scatty was my favorite." He glanced at his crossword. "Hey, do you know the answer to this one? Richard Widmark stars in Two Rode-"

"Alone," Billy said immediately."Two Rode Alone. An okay movie, not great. Black Hawk never liked the way they portrayed the Indians."

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"This is a great place," Machiavelli said, looking around. His eyes glowed with excitement. He looked around the room, noting antique bottles and rusted nails on the shelves, a jar of marbles pushed in the back. A rusted knife stuck into the workbench. The Italian sincerely doubted that any of them would be able to pull the knife out, just short of burning the bench down.

Scathach ran her finger along a shelf. She examined the dust. "A great place. Sure. I wonder when he cleaned it last?" She murmured to Perenelle under her breath. She clapped her hands together, beating the dust off. "Oh, look, here's a picture of Billy and Black Hawk."

Machiavelli leaned in to read the text on the sign behind the two immortals. "World's Trade Fair, 1903," he read in surprise.

"Why's that surprising?" Perenelle asked, brushing the dust off of a stool and sitting down. "Billy probably went to a bunch of those fairs. His master didn't seem to make much use of him."

"But I was there," Machiavelli mumbled. He leaned in close to see the details. "I don't remember seeing him."

"Did you know him back then?" Scathach asked in surprise. Machiavelli shook his head. "Then why would you remember him?" she asked in confusion. The Italian looked up at her, then back down at the picture.

"Billy's special," he mumbled. Hi s ears tinged red and he ducked his head. "He seems like the type you'd notice. And remember, is all." He touched the frame of the picture before setting it back down. He noticed the women exchanging a smile and rapidly backpedaled. "I should have noticed their auras anyways."

"Or at least Billy's handsome face," Scatty teased.

"Is that blood on the ground there?" Perenelle asked suddenly, pointing to some dark red droplets on the ground. Machiavelli looked over, grateful for the distraction.

The Italian stooped low to the ground and inspected the drops. "No, I think it's paint. Probably from when he painted the Thunderbird. He said he worked on it in here." He nodded to himself. "Most likely paint."

"Well, let's hope," Scatty said lightly. She toed Machiavelli lightly with her foot when he didn't get to his feet again. The Italian pressed down closer to the ground. "What's the matter, kid, need help up?"

"No," Machiavelli mumbled. He pressed himself into the space in between the work bench and the floor and reached underneath. "There's something under here," he grunted. "But I can't get to it."

"It's probably nothing," Perenelle said. Machiavelli reluctantly got to his feet. He gave up for the moment, but promised himself he was going to go back sometime. "Look, Niccolo, Billy has some more model cars."

"Where?" Machiavelli came to stand beside the tall woman. Scatty began to beat the dust off of his back. "Ah. A 1910 Ford Model T." He fingered the front bumper and looked up at the women. "Look at the detailing." He smiled.

"I got that at a general store in town, the last year I stayed here," Billy said from the doorway. He moved in. "Dinner is almost ready. We should pack up for the night." The two women headed for the back door, but Machiavelli was still wandering around. Billy cleared his throat and pulled a wheelbarrow from the back corner, wiped it down with the sheet covering it. "Would you like a ride, sir?" He smiled cheekily at the Italian.

Machiavelli approached the wheelbarrow. "In there?" he asked.

"Mmm," Billy hemmed. He waggled his eyebrows and lifted the tactician into the wagon of the wheelbarrow. "Hang on to the edges," he warned. "I'm going to go fast."

The Italian grabbed onto the sides as Billy pushed him out of the shed. The American hadn't been kidding. As soon as they had left the shed, the Kid broke into a run. Machiavelli felt his stomach drop a couple of notches the first time Billy made a turn. When the ride ended, it ended too soon. "Could you do that again sometime?" he asked, breathless.

Billy nodded. He smiled, but wheezed slightly. "Sure."

"Are you all right?"

The American rubbed his chest. "Just get a bit winded sometimes. I think it's just remnants of the wound." He smiled. "Could be a lot worse. I could be dead."


	50. Chapter 50

"Alright, Mac, you want a haircut?" Billy asked the next day as they were finishing lunch.

Machiavelli brightened. "Yes." He ran his fingers through his unruly curls. His hair had never in his life been as long as it was now. Although the weekly transformations stunted his hair from growing too long, at the moment, his hair was uncomfortably touching the back of his neck. "Are you going to get one too?"

"Why?" Billy asked doubling back. "You think I need one?"

Machiavelli nodded vigorously. "What do you think Scatty?" he called to the Shadow. "Does he need one?"

Scatty looked up from the knife she was sharpening. She glanced over at the American outlaw. "I think he needs two." Machiavelli giggled in appreciation and high-fived the warrior. She grinned up at Billy. "It's not going to kill you."

The Italian opened his eyes as wide as he could. "Please, Billy. For me?"

"Fine," Billy sighed. "Is anybody else coming?" Scatty didn't bother to answer him, already busy cleaning her tools again. Neither of the Flamels wanted to go either, so the American shrugged and pulled Machiavelli out behind him.

The Italian skipped behind him, then realized that he must not look very dignified and slowed to a walk. "What are we doing tonight?" he asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of the Thunderbird. "Something fun?"

Billy waited until Machiavelli had buckled in before he let his foot off of the brake. "We can do anything you want, sweets." He flashed a smile at the Italian. Machiavelli felt his insides melt a touch. The outlaw turned the long car onto the main road. "What kind of thing were you thinking of?" Billy asked, tapping out a rhythm on his steering wheel.

"I don't know," Machiavelli admitted. He trailed his fingers out the window and wondered idly if he could touch the trees on the side of the road. They looked close enough. He leaned out the window experimentally. Billy groaned and pulled him back in. "Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away." He turned to watch the American instead, turning the golden pendant over and over in his hands. "Maybe we could have a movie night."

"Sure," Billy agreed. "We could get a brownie mix from the store and make some if you want." He lapsed again into silence. "Are you sure I have to get a haircut?" he asked as they arrived on Main Street.

"I think you look much handsomer when you're clean shaven."

"All right," Billy sighed. He had to wait for some cars to pass before he could get out of the car himself.

Machiavelli was waiting for him on the sidewalk. "Can I get a manicure too?"

"What?" Billy pulled a face. "Mac, we're trying to fit in. How many eleven year olds do you know that get their nails done? Or men in general?"

Machiavelli ignored the last comment. "I suppose so," he said. "Here's the barber." The bell rang as they went into the shop. An older man got out of the the barber's chair as they entered and greeted them at the door.

"Are you both getting a haircut?" he asked cheerfully, coming to stand before them.

"Yes," Billy said. "I suppose we both are." He smiled just slightly at the Italian. "My son doesn't think that I'll go through with it, so I suppose I'll go first." He motioned to Machiavelli. "Why don't you read a book?"

The Italian was already looking through the selection. He distastefully pushed aside the Dora the Explorer books and picked up a Batman comic. Though he looked through the comic book, he kept his ears pricked as Billy and the barber talked. He smiled slightly, hearing the general track of the conversation. It seemed like Billy had finally found someone who loved to talk more than he did.

"... and you look exactly like the man in a picture I have of my father." The barber blathered on. "This guy was one of the founders of the town. It's astounding how much you look alike. You could have been this guy's brother..."

"Is that so?" Billy asked, the vaguest trace of humor in his voice. "I guess it could have possibly been one of my relatives. They've owned a cabin up here for as long as I can remember."

"Oh, the Bonney cabin?" The older man said with familiarity. He spoke up over the sound of the razor whirring. Machiavelli stole a glance over at the American. Large tufts of Billy's light brown hair was drifting to the ground, but unfortunately the rotund man was blocking most of his view. He glanced back down. Batman had just changed out of his costume. "Then you must be related," the barber continued. "That explains a lot. I didn't know that Henry Bonney ever had children. He seemed like a bit of a loner."

"I think he was more lonely than a loner," Billy said carefully. He tilted his head to the side so that the man could get to his sideburns. "He eventually found someone that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with."

"You're all done." The barber said. He took a brush off of the tray in the other chair and swiped away at the short hairs. "Well, I'm glad to have met you. You never did tell me your name."

Billy stood up carefully and grinned. "I'm Billy Bonney. And it's your turn Mac," he called to the Italian. Machiavelli set aside the comic at last and looked up at his American friend. "How do I look? Handsome?" Billy asked, grinning.

"Handsome," Machiavelli said offhandedly. And the American did look very handsome. The Italian immortal made a mental note that he was going to keep Billy clean shaven for the rest of their lives if he had any say in the matter. The man actually looked older somehow and more mature when he was clean cut.

"How do you want your hair, son?" the barber asked affably. He motioned to the chair which Machiavelli clambered into hesitantly. The Italian looked at Billy for help, suddenly excruciatingly shy.

"Niccolo likes it short," Billy supplied for him.

"Niccolo, huh? Nice name." The man began to snip away at the Italian's curls. "He doesn't look much like you," the barber continued.

The American beamed. "I just adopted him. He's from Italy, doesn't speak a lot of English yet, but we're working on that." He tried to run his hand through his hair, but there wasn't enough to do anything and the outlaw scowled for the briefest of moments. His humor quickly returned, alongside his smile. "He's my sweetheart."

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"Why'd you tell the barber I couldn't speak English?" Machiavelli asked curiously as they picked their way through the grocery store.

Billy tossed a brownie mix in the car and leaned over for a container of vegetable oil. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to answer all the questions barbers ask kids. Where do you go to school, what grade are you in, etc." He maneuvered the Italian in the direction of the dairy department.

"Oh, I guess that's smart. I wouldn't have thought of that." The Italian grabbed a carton of eggs and put them next to the milk. "What are we having for dinner tonight?"

Billy rubbed his chin. "I thought we might pick up a pizza on our way back to the cabin. Is that copacetic for you?" Machiavelli nodded. "Good. Come on darling, I think we've got everything we need."


	51. Chapter 51

Machiavelli enjoyed the feeling of the pizza box in his lap, the bottom of it heating up his legs comfortably in the cool air of early evening. "Why'd we get two pizzas? There are only five of us. And I'm not sure Scatty eats pizza." He glanced at the American and carefully stole a pepperoni.

"I got a cheese one specifically for Scatty. She says she's a vegetarian," Billy explained. He glanced over at the Italian. "And I saw that." Machiavelli looked at him defiantly, but Billy continued on. "Actually, I thought you were a vegetarian too when we first met."

"I was," Machiavelli confirmed. He paused, searching for the right words. "But I was a vegetarian because most food didn't taste good. And now it does. I don't know why it does though." He popped another pepperoni in his mouth. "I don't question it. I just hope my taste buds don't go back to how they were."

"Maybe it's another side effect of your transformation," Billy hazarded. "But stop taking pepperonis. We're not going to have any left by the time we get there."

"There will be plenty," Machiavelli protested. "You're just jealous cause I have delicious pepperonis and you can't have any." He clutched the boxes protectively in his lap.

Billy snorted. He tugged at the window crank on the driver's side door. "Are you warm enough?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah." Machiavelli gestured to the pizza's in his lap. "It's like having an electric blanket on." He hummed under his breath and looked out the window, then turned to the American. "I like your short hair. You look very handsome."

Billy blinked at the Italian's openness. "Thank you." He grinned cheekily. "I am one handsome devil. You're not bad yourself." He spun the wheel, guiding the convertible into their driveway. When he had come to a stop, he reached across Machiavelli and tried to open the door, but couldn't quite make it. He gave up. "End of the road kid. Don't get up, I'll come open your door."

"Thank you," the Italian said when Billy pulled the boxes out of his hand. They could hear the Pup barking excitedly from the front windows. "Hey, Billy's waiting for us."

"I still think that was a bad idea," Billy mumbled under his breath as they walked into the cabin. Billy promptly tripped over the cat. Machiavelli fared much better, sidestepping the cat and scooping her up. He followed the American immortal into the kitchen where the other immortals were gathered. Nicholas appeared to have been in the middle of a humorous story, but dropped it as the two wandering immortals came back in.

Perenelle drew Machiavelli in beside her. "You look quite handsome, Niccolo. And you must feel better."

Machiavelli grinned. "Much better. I never let my hair get that long."

"I thought you were kind of cute," Scathach called. She peeked into the two boxes and snagged the box with the cheese pizza, pulling it out of the Frenchman's hands. Nicholas protested slightly and followed her.

Machiavelli meanwhile, puffed out his chest. "I don't want to look cute," he said scandalized. He dropped the cat on the ground. "I'm a grown man." He yipped when Billy poked him in the side and sulked slightly. The Italian grabbed half of the pizza for himself and settled on the couch. Georgette slunk up behind him and nipped him on the ear. He held up a pepperoni which the tabby pulled from his grasp. Billy the Pup laid his head in the Italian's lap and looked up at the boy with big eyes.

"Make that the last one you give him," Billy called from the kitchen. Machiavelli ducked his head guiltily, but grinned back at the American. "Dog's going to be shitting all night and I'm going to be the one cleaning it up," Billy muttered, flopping onto the couch beside the Italian. He looked back at the Flamels who had sat down at the kitchen table. "Are we going to watch a movie?"

"Sure," Scathach agreed, climbing over the back of the couch and settling next to Machiavelli. She rubbed the tabby's ears. Georgette put up with it for half a minute and then climbed over to where Billy was sitting. "Cats," Scathach grumbled. "I like them, but they never like me."

"Believe me, I wish she liked you more right now," Billy said, holding his plate high in the air to keep the cat's tail out it. He stroked Georgette's back and the tabby folded into his lap. She held up her head and purred loudly. The American immortal hesitantly lowered his plate down to chest level and awkwardly chewed on his pizza.

Machiavelli wasn't paying attention to the immortal on either side of him. He bounced impatiently. "What are we watching?" He looked back at the Flamels, twisting in his seat. "What do you want to watch?"

Nicholas glanced at Perenelle. The Frenchwoman shrugged. "We really have no preference," she said.

"Excellent," Machiavelli said happily. He looked at Billy. "We should watch Spartacus."

"That show with the gladiators?" Billy said hesitantly. "The fights and the violence and the massive amount of sex... ("Sounds good," Scatty broke in). I don't think so, Mac," he said. "You're very little." The Italian opened his mouth to protest, but Billy cut him off. He wagged a finger in the boy's face. "You look very little still. I would still feel like a pervert, no matter how old you actually are." Machiavelli relented, very unhappily.

"We should watch Captain America," Scathach said from the Italian's right. The European immortals in the room universally nixed the idea.

"I've seen enough nationalism in my life," Machiavelli told her. She gave him a heavy shove.

"I thought it was a good idea," Billy told her over the Italian's head. "You'd still get the action and violence," he told Machiavelli, poking him in the side.

"I wanted the sex!" Machiavelli said rather loudly. He raised his hands to the ceiling, gesticulating slightly. "For the first time in weeks, I have hormones pumping through my veins. This is no time to watch documentaries on pigeons!"

"Ooh, do they have documentaries on pigeons?" Billy asked, grabbing the remote control. He laughed when Machiavelli smacked him. "We're getting off topic. We could watch Psycho or Monty Python or Airplane..."

"Isn't Airplane just as inappropriate as Spartacus?" Perenelle asked thoughtfully, dumping the contents of the brownie mix into a big bowl. She rooted around in the top drawer, looking for a whisk.

Billy pointed at her. "Yes, but there's less nudity. And it's hilarious." He grabbed Machiavelli's hand before the Italian could take a bite of his pizza. "How much pizza have you had so far?"

"Maybe five pieces," Machiavelli said innocently, leaning into to bite his pizza.

Billy let go of the boy's hand. "Did you never have food or something when you were a kid? You have almost no control over yourself."

"I'm a growing boy," Machiavelli defended himself. "Anyways, are we decided? Are we watching Airplane?" he asked, looking around the room.

Nicholas nodded. He squeezed in next to Scatty, who leaned heavily on his shoulder. "Sure," she said, grinning. "I love the scene when-"

"Don't tell me," Machiavelli broke in quickly. "I've never seen it before."

"Let's just say there's a nun involved," Billy said mysteriously.


	52. Chapter 52

Machiavelli woke up feeling an unpleasant tight sensation around his stomach the next morning. He took a couple of deep breaths, willing the feeling to go away, but it didn't. He rolled out of bed, moving painstakingly slow, and walked across the hall. "Oh, Billy, you let me eat too much," he groaned, as he crawled into bed beside the American.

Billy snuffled and threw an arm over the Italian. "Not my fault," the American slurred sleepily. "Told you to stop." Machiavelli just grunted and held his stomach. There had been a certain point of time last night when he had known that he should stop eating, but he hadn't. _In my defense, food hasn't tasted good in nearly five centuries_, he thought to himself. He coughed lightly, still trying to keep down his food. "Mac, sometimes the best thing to do is to throw up," Billy continued. "Preferably, not in my bed."

"I'm not going to throw up," Machiavelli said weakly. "At least, I hope I don't."

"I'd settle for a good crap," Billy whispered cheerfully. "Either way, you need to get some of that food out of you."

"Billy! That's disgusting," the Italian moaned. His stomach churned at the thought and he threw the blankets off of him. "I'll be back." He ran towards the bathroom and just barely managed to lift the toilet seat up before he expelled the contents of his stomach.

"You throw up a lot," Billy said critically from the doorway, having apparently followed the tiny tactician. He leaned on the frame, crossing his arms across his thin torso. "I hope it's not what we're feeding you."

"I've always had a very weak stomach," Machiavelli heaved from his kneeling position. He retched again and jumped slightly when he felt a cool cloth press against his neck. He looked up. The American frowned at him sympathetically and wiped off the Italian's face. Machiavelli stood up gingerly. "I think I feel a little better though. I guess you were right."

"Of course I'm right," Billy said bluntly. "I had an enormous sweet tooth as a kid. I loved candy in particular. So consequently, I became very familiar with upset stomachs." The American led him back into his bedroom and climbed under the covers. "I also used to take care of my mother when she was ill," Billy said thoughtfully, holding the blanket up so that the Italian could climb in after him. Billy dropped the blanket around Machiavelli after the boy climbed in after him and leaned against Billy's arm. He could hear the thin immortal sigh happily as he settled back into the bed.

"Billy?"

"Mmm," Billy answered. He looked over at Machiavelli, drowsiness apparent in his features. "What's up baby boy?" Machiavelli punched him sharply. "Sugarplum?" Billy smiled wide, his big teeth flashing in the low light. The American closed his eyes again, but squeezed the Italian's hand to show he was still awake.

Billy's levity didn't make Machiavelli's question an easy one to ask, but he was genuinely curious about the answer. "Do you miss your mother?"

Billy's eyes slotted open. He was quiet for a while and Machiavelli was afraid he'd asked something he shouldn't have. "Yes, I miss my momma," Billy said eventually. His fingers traced around the Italian's hand. "When she died, I wanted to cry everyday but I had to be strong for Josie. My stepfather had gone away, if you remember."

"I remember," Machiavelli said softly. "Haven't you ever cried for her?"

Billy shifted uncomfortably. "Boys and men don't cry," he said firmly.

"Oh, that's stupid," the Italian said just as firmly in his precise English. Billy looked at him in surprise. "We cry because we're human. I still cry when I think about one of the last conversations I had with Marietta. She said that I was an inhuman monster, that I was going to die alone." He paused. They both watched the sunlight creep across the ceiling. "I wish I could talk to my wife, Billy."

Billy cocked his head slightly and rotated his shoulders. "Why? What would you say?"

"If I could talk to her, I could show her I didn't turn out to be an inhuman monster." Machiavelli held out his arms out before him and let them fall down again; he turned back to look at the American. "I didn't, did I?"

Billy pulled him in close. "No, you didn't." He kissed Machiavelli on the side of his face, leaving a wet mark on the Italian's cheek. Machiavelli didn't try to wipe it away, instead concentrating on the deep breaths coming out of Billy. He forced himself to listen as Billy continued. "But you know, Mac, I think Marietta loved you as much as I do. She was just trying to save you."

The Italian leaned into him. "Maybe," he admitted. "But I'd like to know for sure. And I'd like to apologize for being such a horrible husband."

"Maybe Perenelle could help you," the American posited thoughtfully. "Supposedly, she can communicate with ghosts. Maybe she could find your wife."

Machiavelli looked at him quickly. "You think she could?"

"Well, we won't know until we ask," Billy said drowsily. "Who knows? Maybe she could find my momma. I'd love to see her again." He squeezed Machiavelli again. "I'd like her to meet you. Kind of a meet the family thing..."

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Georgette actually seemed to form a partiality to Billy over the next few days. Often, at the end of the day, Billy would sit by the fireplace and read from his book. The tabby would scamper in from wherever she'd been hiding and settle in behind the American. Billy, for his part, seemed to enjoy the affection of the feline. From time to time, Machiavelli would catch the American, leaning back in the armchair with his hat over his eyes and the cat in a tight ball on his chest.

Machiavelli was surprised that Billy would be so content to lead a quiet life. He had thought that the American would require more adventure or danger. Once, he voiced that opinion to the outlaw. Billy just laughed. "I do enjoy a good adventure," he admitted. "But I think our time on Alkatraz has cooled my desire for any real danger, at least for a little while." He thought for a moment. "Now that you mention it though, the cabin's all finished and together again. We should get you back on that horse."

The Italian was suddenly nervous. He shifted uneasily. "I don't know Billy," he stammered. "Everybody's got something they're bad at. Maybe this is mine."

Billy tugged Machiavelli into his arms. He squeezed him tight. "Ah, Mac, when you fall of a horse, you have to get right back on. It's even an expression." He twirled the Italian around so that they were facing the same way and pulled him up into his lap. "This time, you'll ride with me, on the same horse, and I'll make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Machiavelli closed his eyes, Billy's voice calming him. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly. "But don't let go."

"I won't," Billy promised. "Don't worry, Mac. Riding horses is something I'm good at. Everything will be fine."


	53. Chapter 53

Machiavelli popped up by Scatty, leaning over the back of the couch to look at her laptop. He leaned over her shoulder, his cheek brushing against hers. She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?" he asked innocently, indicating the picture on the website before them.

Scatty huffed at him, but turned the laptop slightly so that he could see the laptop straight on. "Apparently, it's Billy."

"What?" Machiavelli climbed over the back of the couch and wedged himself between Scatty and Perenelle. "I thought there was only one picture of him." He studied the picture before him. The boy in the picture did resemble Billy, but the Italian had a hard time picturing Billy ever being quite that young. Especially, the shy, neatly dressed boy in the picture.

Perenelle leaned slightly on the Italian, looking at the picture herself. "He does have Billy's ears and facial structure. But I guess we won't know until we ask Billy himself." She carefully settled her arm around the Italian's shoulders. Machiavelli leaned in to the touch.

"Where is Billy?" he asked her curiously. The American had told Machiavelli he would bring him to the stables this afternoon and then had promptly disappeared again. He felt his stomach grumble as it neared lunchtime.

Perenelle toyed with his hair. "I believe he is looking for something in the attic. He asked to keep you down here for the time being." She looked over at her husband. "You should go fetch him," she said. "It's nearly lunchtime."

"I could go get him," Machiavelli said, attempting innocence. It didn't work. Perenelle shook her head, Nicholas started for the stairs, and Scatty actually scoffed at him. He shrugged. "What's he looking for?" he whispered in Scatty's ear. "Come on, you can tell me."

"Bug off," she said, but without malice. Machiavelli giggled slightly and abruptly leaned closer to her and kissed her cheek. "What was that for?" Scatty hissed, turning almost as red as her hair.

Machiavelli shrugged, nonplussed. He didn't quite know why he had done it either, except that he felt a sudden surge of affection for the Shadow. "Thought it might work," he said cheekily. He lifted his chin. "I am irresistible." Scatty pinched her nose and shook her head, but Perenelle laughed from the Italian's other side. He grinned up at the older Frenchwoman, feeling pleasantly light at the moment.

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Following lunch, that pleasant feeling had almost entirely gone away. Machiavelli scrambled out of the car and followed Billy over to the stable, reluctant to ride again but unwilling to be left behind either. "I don't know, Billy," he said nervously. "Not everyone was meant to ride a horse. And in this day in age, I just think that..."

Billy kissed him on the side of the face, effectively cutting him off. "Listen, Mac, I know you're nervous after last time but things are going to be fine. I should have put you back on the horse right away." He finished tightening the saddle onto the horse, a bay mare, and led them both into the coral.

"Would that have made things better? Would things have seemed less scary now?" Machiavelli asked somewhat frantically. "Please, Billy, don't put me back on the horse."

Billy leaned down a bit so that he could look the Italian square in the eye. Machiavelli wanted to look away, unnerved by the interaction, but Billy gently held his face where it was. "Are you really that nervous?" The Italian jerked his head noncommittally. Billy straightened up again. "It's not going to be so bad, Mac," he assured him. He tugged the Italian to the side. "Listen, sweetheart, I'll never make you do something dangerous. But I think it's important that you face your fears. Give it a try. For me?"

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed, reluctance clear. "But you promised you'd sit behind me."

"Sure." Billy hefted him onto the horse. Machiavelli swallowed hard and hung on tight to the horn of the saddle. Billy swung himself up onto the saddle. "Well, this is cozy," he said happily. He pulled Machiavelli in close to his torso, his arms protectively encircling the boy. The two were now close enough that the Italian could feel Billy squeeze the sides of the horse with his thighs lightly. He swallowed as the horse began to walk forward.

Machiavelli didn't know where to put his hands. He rested them on the saddle, then decided he wanted something more solid and grabbed at Billy's arms. He sharply inhaled and moved his head a fraction to look back at the American immortal. "Billy-?"

Billy switched the reins to one hand. "Put them here," he said, guiding Machiavelli's hands to the reins. He covered Machiavelli's hands with his own, the callouses of his hand rubbing at the Italian's knuckles. He kept up a steady stream of encouragement. "There you go. See, you're fine. We won't go any faster than this." The outlaw's confidence hung in the air around them.

Machiavelli could feel is breathing finally beginning to steady. It was s till a strange feeling, balancing on the horse's back. He wasn't completely ready to give up on his fears though, feeling the pinpricks of goosebumps creeping up his arms. "What if the horse panics again?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. His voice quivered.

"We're going to be fine," Billy said, repeating his familiar mantra. "I can handle it." He reached forward and slapped the horse's neck. "She's a good horse, not going to do anything. And we're only going to go around the pasture once."

Machiavelli half turned to look at the American before he remembered where he was and straightened quickly. "We're only going around once?"

"Sure," Billy said amiably. "I'm going to ease you into it. Horse riding should be fun, not stressful." They rounded the last corner and Billy stopped the horse. He pushed off and touched down lightly. "I'll bring you around again tomorrow morning, if you want," he told the Italian, helping Machiavelli dismount.

"What are we going to do now?" Machiavelli asked curiously as they led the horse back to the barn. He began to brush down the horse, leaving Billy to do some of the heavier tasks.

"Well, after we're done here, I wanted to go to the bookstore. So I can drop you off at home or you can come with me."

"I'll come with you," Machiavelli said at once. "I need some new books. I've read everything on the shelf in my room." He placed the stable supplies back in their spot. "You haven't read to me in a while," he remarked. "Why not?"

Billy made a face. "I thought you might feel you were too old to be read to now."

"No, I like you reading to me," Machiavelli said shyly. He shuffled his feet on the hay strewn floor. "My papa used to read to me too. Of course I found out later that most of the stories he read to me were actually based on real things," he commented as they walked back to the car. He climbed in to the passenger seat. "That was both exciting and terrifying and somewhat disappointing, if you know what I mean.

"Ah, you mean like how it's kind of disappointing that they've probably found Jack the Ripper's true identity," Billy theorized. He glanced at the Italian as he started the car up. "You were alive when he was killing. What was that like?"

"Frightening. Those were dark times." Machiavelli shivered slightly before he continued. "But not nearly as frightening for me as it would have been for others. Even if I had been mortal at the time, I wasn't a woman or a prostitute so I just had to worry about the normal dangers of walking in London after dark."

"Well, let's agree not to get any books on Jack the Ripper for our little read alouds," Billy said, turning onto the main road.


	54. Chapter 54

"It's not such a bad life we're living, is it?" Billy asked the next morning. He swung up behind the Italian. "I mean, we essentially have no obligations and we get to ride horses everyday. And swimming, we go swimming a lot too," he added as an afterthought.

"We live a good life," Machiavelli agreed distractedly. He pressed his body heavily into the American's, wondering how it was possible to balance on a horse. "Billy, do you think I'll ever be comfortable riding horses?"

"I think so," Billy said. "I mean you were before, weren't you? Before the accident, I mean."

"It was fun before that," Machiavelli acknowledged, looking down on the ground and sharply looking up again. "I'm just still a bit nervous, I guess. Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about," he paused, "that book you starting reading me last night. What's it called?"

"The Bridge to Terabithia," Billy supplied. "I read it all the way through last night after you went to sleep."

"How does it end?" Machiavelli asked, swiveling slightly.

The outlaw punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm not going to tell you. That would ruin the book!"

"Oh, but Billy, it would make me feel better," Machiavelli wheedled.

Billy shook his head. "Nothing doing."

"Well then what are we going to talk about?" the Italian asked, pouting slightly. A thought struck him. "Could you teach me how to lasso?"

Billy shifted. "I suppose so. Why do you want to know how to lasso?"

~MB~

"So, you're feeling better about being back on the horse?" Perenelle asked the Italian over dinner. She doled out some mashed potatoes onto his plate and handed the bowl to Scatty. She looked down at the boy.

Machiavelli shrugged slightly, aware that Billy probably could pick up on whatever his body language was saying. "I guess so." He pushed the potatoes around on his plate and began to mix them with his carrots. He perked up. "He taught me how to lasso."

"Was he any good at it?" Scatty called across to Billy.

"Unfortunately," Billy said, rubbing his shoulder. "I was his target for a while. He nearly choked me at one point," he said, pointing to the Italian. Machiavelli smiled innocently at the American.

"Why didn't you use a fence post?" Nicholas said, taking the plate of biscuits.

Billy stole the biscuit the Frenchman had just buttered. "This one," he nodded at the boy, "convinced me that I'd be a better target."

"And weren't you?" Machiavelli said happily. "I learned, didn't I?"

"I suppose so," Billy sighed. "But we're putting this on the list of things that I don't like. I'm going to get a pen and paper, right now." He got up and rooted around in the junk drawer. "So what did you guys do today?" he called over his shoulder.

"We made a pie today," Scatty called back, indicating herself and Perenelle. "Bring it over, we're going to be done soon."

"Am I getting facial hair?" Machiavelli asked suddenly. He examined his reflection in his spoon.

Billy squinted across at him in disbelief. He set the pie down at the end of the table. "Mac, you didn't even have facial hair when you were an adult." He paused. "And, what?"

"What's the matter?" Machiavelli asked, surprised.

Scatty tapped him on the shoulder. "It was a very sudden shift in the conversation. You see, we were talking about pie. You're talking about bodily functions."

"Is that so wrong?" the Italian said mildly. "I get very sudden mood shifts. Is that wrong? What kind of pie are we having?" He looked around the table. The other immortals stared back at him. Machiavelli held out a carrot to the Pup. The dog crunched on it and licked his hand.

"Apple," Perenelle answered finally.

Nicholas leaned forward a little. He accepted a piece of pie from Billy. "Did you smoke a lot of pot back in the day?" he asked the Italian. Machiavelli just laughed. He fed the dog a bit of crust from the pie.

"You didn't answer the man," Billy said suspiciously. "And stop feeding the animals!" They hang around you like you're their mother."

"Have some pie, honey," Machiavelli said. "You know, what I want? I want you to play the piano for me? You do it so well."

"I don't know," Scatty broke in. "I think he's putting you on."

Billy nodded and grinned. "But he did call me honey and he never does that. So I think I will play for him." Machiavelli opened his mouth and Billy cut him off. "But not right now. I want pie right now." And he cut himself a third of the pie. The rest of the dinner went on smoothly, though it seemed like Machiavelli was beginning to harp on puberty a bit more than he had been in the past week. The others attributed his focus to the rapidly increasing changes that the Italian seemed to be going through.

"Are you going to play the piano now?" Machiavelli asked immediately after they were done. He clattered around the kitchen, clearing the plates off of the table in record time. "Where are you guys going?" he asked as the other immortals prepared to leave.

"We're tired, kid," Scatty said, bending over to kiss the Italian's cheek. "We cleaned the cabin top to bottom today. I mean we really scrubbed this place." She patted his cheek.

"Sleep tight, sweetie," Perenelle said, squeezing him in a hug. Billy waved to them from his place at the piano.

Machiavelli heard the door click behind them. He turned to face the American who was playing some scales. "You like playing the piano?" Machiavelli asked. He lay on his stomach on the couch, watching Billy's fingers move across the ivories. The way his fingers moved and bent, the Italian thought that even if he went deaf he would want to watch Billy play; it was like watching a precious form of art come out. Singular and rare, each movement lasted only a moment before it died.

Billy glanced back at him. A smile tugged at his lips, but it was his eyes which shone. "I do." He began to pick out the rhythm to a song that was familiar to the Italian, though he couldn't place it.

"I never thought you'd be a piano player," Machiavelli confessed. He rested his chin on the back of his hands. "You don't think of outlaws as having much time for a formal musical education."

Billy dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Well I don't know much about a formal musical education, but I do play the piano nonetheless. I picked it up from a saloon player back when I lived in Silver City as a kid. My mother and I used to go to dances that would be put on." He gazed into his reflection in the top of the piano. "I was her escort," he continued. "Or at least that's what she told me. She said a proper lady wouldn't go to such things without a strong man to keep her safe. That was me," he said unnecessarily. "I was the man supposed to keep her safe."

The Italian turned on his side. "But you weren't a man yet, you were just a boy."

"Oh, well, we both knew that. But my mother would say I was the man of the house and I thought that was nice, like I was special. After she died, that all kind of went away. I've never been special to anybody like that ever again." Billy's voice saddened slightly at the end of his little speech. He began to play a faster piece. "You shouldn't have bought me this piano, Mac."

"Why?" The Italian asked in surprise. He swung off the couch and came to stand beside Billy, watching the American's fingers fly across the keys. Billy stopped playing altogether, just as quickly.

"It cost too much," Billy complained. "I'll never be able to pay you back."

"I don't want you to pay me back," Machiavelli protested. He sat on the bench beside Billy and the American moved over slightly to give him room. "I bought it to make you happy. That's what I want." He lightly pressed down on middle C. "Play something for me, Billy."

Billy squinted at him before glancing down at the piano. He tapped out 'Mary had a little Lamb' and grinned at the Italian. Machiavelli shook his head and began to slide off of the piano bench. "Oh, don't go, I was just kidding." The American slung an arm around Machiavelli shoulders and pulled him in close. He pressed his lips to the boy's temple and then began to sing. "_Remember when the days were long and rolled beneath a deep blue sky..._"


End file.
